Memories of Brambletye Boys Preparatory School 1967 – 1971.

 

When I went to Brambletye at the age of nine, in September 1967, it was my fifth school in the last four years. As my parents were routinely being posted within the Army, they felt a boarding school would give me a more stable education. I vaguely remember touring the school with them and Mr Blencowe, the Headmaster, one summer before term and being asked if I would be happy there for the next four years, to which I obediently replied, "Yes".

 

The school seemed to be based on many military methods. Each boy was allocated to one of four Houses named after great British military heroes: there were Nelson, Marlborough and Drake, and I was in Wellington. Many boy's fathers had been to Brambletye when they were young and it was not unusual for them to insist their son followed in the same House. Instead of prefects we had Officers. As just one part of the overall military discipline we had to march everywhere!

 

We had no first names even though all our parents may have thought long and hard about choosing a name that would either continue the family line, please a grandfather or uncle or be one of the "in" names in the 1960’s. Despite this being formalised by Christening we were only referred to by our surnames. The list of boarders showed a proliferation of double-barrelled surnames, and one poor boy was even blessed with a triple barrelled title. If you had the same surname as someone else, the older and more senior added "1" to his name, the junior adding "2". You had Smith 1 and 2 because they were common. They did get as far as Sommerfelt 3 but no other parents managed to produce four offspring within the four year scope of preparatory school life (fertility treatment had not been developed at this time!).

 

I remember the first night, going to bed later than it should have been at 6.30pm, and a few of the other sixteen or so boys in the dormitory sobbing into their pillows. They were comforted by the matrons in their starched white uniforms. I had the benefit of a few months on the majority of them as I was a Spring baby born in March, while there were still others born later in Autumn of the same year who were in the same intake. Whether this classified me as "retarded" because there were younger and cleverer boys in the same class, I shall never be sure, but I do know I didn't cry on the first night.

 

The dormitory was a long room with nine steel framed beds down one side, seven down the other. One side had deep windows stretching from the high ceiling down to near the floor, overlooking the shallow valley below. To the right you could see a lake or reservoir that glistened in the sun. It appeared only a few miles away. To me it symbolised "freedom" as on nice sunny days you could see yachts sailing on it. But between the shimmering water and me was a gulf that might as well have been a thousand miles wide. I never ever did reach its shores, and be able to look back across to the school.

 

Winter terms could be dark and huge curtains were drawn across those high dormitory windows. In summer time even they couldn't make it dark enough to sleep until late. But at least in summertime you could find the enamelled tin potties which were strategically located around the dormitory. These could get rather full and smelly over night and were a disgusting trap for little feet as boys sneaked around barefoot in their pyjamas after lights out. There was many a time when a toe stubbed a potty in the dark. There would be a stifled shriek either followed by the splashing of urine onto the wooden floor or the crashing of an empty tin potty skidding across the dormitory. If it crashed into the steel frame of a bed you had about 10 seconds to run back to the other end of the dormitory in pitch darkness, find your bed, leap under the blankets and "be asleep" before simultaneously the lights came on and a Master strode into the room. Anyone caught out of bed was in for a whacking!

 

Actually this only happened rarely. Dormitory raids were the exception rather than the rule. Mind you it was difficult from the juniors dormitory. The dormitory door led into a magnificent hall, very much the Headmaster's part of the school, with offices, and staff rooms to the right. A huge skinned tiger with his stuffed head, bared teeth and glass eyes, lay star shaped on the parquet floor, ready to rip into your ankles if you dared pass. To the left lay a wood panelled corridor leading to Mr Blencowe's room. Ahead, past the tiger, rose a magnificent wooden grand staircase. Above it a huge portrait of a very stern gentleman stared down forbiddingly towards the dormitory door. Access to the other dormitories could only be gained across this hall and up the staircase. With doors to left and right from which a master might appear at any moment, the staring, watching eyes of the portrait, and the risk of a master or matron appearing on the landing above, it was incredibly risky in a Colditz sort of way left to venture upstairs after lights out. If a number of you were caught, wielding pillows, tip toeing upstairs, there was only one outcome. A quick march down the panelled corridor to the left took you to Mr Blencowe's office. Normally being there was not good news, but it always gave me the chance to see the two black cast statues of Charles I and Henry VIII(?) that stood in his hallway. I was always impressed by these 3ft tall figures and thirty-five years later was quite upset to hear that they ended their lives thrown in a rubbish tip.

 

There were a number of strange procedures for First Years. One peculiar rule was that juniors had to line up outside the toilets every morning. A junior officer held a book – perhaps it should have been called a log book. According to the order of name in the book each boy would enter the toilet as a cubicle became available, do what he could and return to report to the officer with either a "1" or a "2" to confirm which bodily function had been completed. A twelve or thirteen year old officer then had the medical responsibility when noting a certain boy had not reported a "2" for several days, to tell him to go back in and try harder. Serious cases of constipation were referred to the school nurse.

 

After lunch we were required to rest. This meant returning to our dormitory to lie fully clothed in our uniforms on our beds and in silence. Of course at our age this was the last thing we wanted to do. Sleeping was difficult at this time of the day; after all lights out was at 6.30pm every night. You could take one book to read, but if you had made a poor choice you were stuck with it. Fidgeting was not allowed, even if you were bored!

 

Apart from the above two additions to the day's routine it didn't really matter which year you were in, the routine Monday to Friday was the same.

 

We got up on the alarm bell, dressed and washed. Then all 120 or so boys marched by dormitory into the Dining room to sit on wooden benches down the sides of long wooden tables topped by either a Master or Matron at each end. Grace was said in a silent room to immediately be followed by the din of scraping of chairs and benches, clattering of china and cutlery and 120 chattering boys. The food was always prepared and brought to the ends of the tables in large aluminium trays by some curious little Spanish couple called Angela and Manuel. I was never sure where they lived but it appeared to be in a large cupboard at the end of the dining hall!

 

The Master or Matron served the food, helped by the boy on the end of the row. We all moved round one place each day. As each plate was filled with food it was passed from boy to boy down the line to the end. Breakfast was always cornflakes in the summer term followed by bacon, egg and plum tomatoes. Sometimes the egg was scrambled in a watery pale yellow mush of nothing. For variety it was fried into flat discs of rubber. In winter it was porridge poured out of a massive jug - every day. Sometimes I ate a few spoonfuls, but despite a rule that you sit there until you eat it, there was always a hungry chum nearby that preferred to eat my porridge than have a dose of scrambled egg. Once I sat in the dining hall whilst the rest of school had morning inspection, chapel, prep and the first lesson, before Angela took pity on me, gave me a smile, and removed the solid, cold bowl of porridge from in front of me. I would have sat there all day, but I think she had been waiting to go shopping!

 

After the meal we returned to the dormitory to make our beds. This was a precise science recalling military traditions of the 45 degree hospital tuck and razor sharp folds. Points were attributed to the house for clean and tidy dormitories. We then had a short time to brush up our shoes and present ourselves for inspection in the main hall. This was to all intents and purposes a military parade with the Captain walking up and down each line to give a head to toe examination of brushed hair, tie knot, clean knees and polished and tied shoes. We always faced one side of the hall and your eyes naturally rose up to some huge ornate wooden boards listing the names of all the old School Captains who had gone on to better things. I was always struck by this board as it listed boys all the way back to the time of the Great War. I never thought my name would be on this board and I was proven right!

 

Next came chapel. A short march took us into a beautiful little chapel. I still remember there was so much wood in it and some lovely religious frescos. As a "non-singer" chapel during the week was quite straightforward. You stood up, sang, sat down, knelt, stood up, sang, knelt, sat up, listened to the lesson………..the routine was the same every day. I once was told to read the lesson. I was given a week to prepare for it, and fretted every day over it. Shaking in my shoes I read it in front of the whole school and apparently missed a whole verse out of it, but next to nobody noticed.

 

We had a short spell of "prep" until nine o'clock (time to do the home work you didn't do lastnight) before it was full steam into lessons.

 

Colonel Molesworth, was our French teacher. He was so regimented in everything he did, at lunchtime he would disect a rectangular tray of rice pudding with skin, into 24 precise portions using a knife to gauge the proportions. Then he would take the knife and try to cut a rectangular block of rice pudding! I tell you what, he had some knack! I detested rice pudding, porridge, semolina or tapioca, and still he always managed to give me the same sized portion as everyone else!

 

He was even more amazing at French. He taught us Franglais, a language quite unknown to the Gallic people of France, so that even after finishing at Brambletye, and continuing it at High school, I still could not speak French after nine years.

 

He would have left today's England's football team in tears with his rules. In the days of wingers on each side, inside left, centre forward, inside right, with right, centre and left halves and a left and right back you could not move out of your "box". As a right back, cross an imaginary line between the goal and the centre spot into the left half and the whistle would blow and you would be sent to run a quick circuit of the four pitches on the lower playing fields. Colonel Molesworth approved of the shoulder barge whereby a four stone weakling on the ball could be shoulder-barged with the force of a charging rhinoceros and no foul given. Similarly Henniker–Heaton's clod-hopper boots, which were built of half inch thick leather coming up to the middle of his shins, tipped on the sole with half inch steel studs and re-inforced toe caps, could quite legitimately be used to separate an opponents leg from his foot at the ankle without any thought about the need to take time off sports through injury, physiotherapy or scans.

 

Colonel Molesworth: clipped moustache, highly polished brown shoes: what did he do in the war? (Mmm; he was prisoner. That seems appropriate)

 

Mr Trevanion was hard. Oh yes!!! He taught Maths. You didn't say much to Mr Trevanion, you just answered his questions as directly as possible. You tried not to meet eye to eye with him either: his stare was deadly! Sometimes you would have to stand by the desk and wait whilst he marked your work. I noticed his hands then. They were hard!

 

Scripture was taught by Mr Jones, definitely a man to respect, and whilst he could be strict, I did seem to do well in his classes gaining a few "A-"s, "B+"s and "Satis" all over my work. He made me Form Captain. It was my job to let the class know what their Prep was for the next day so I must apologise to the whole class, now for the first time in thirty-four years, that one day I gave them the wrong details. This meant that the majority of them were in trouble with Mr Jones the next day for doing the wrong work. Protest as they did it was proven I couldn't have given the wrong information as there were a number of boys who had completed the same work as me. They naturally kept quiet because these were the ones who had copied off me!

 

Mr Ogle taught Geography which I liked. I was good at locating the Amazon mouth, the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, the Nile, etc, on a blank map of the world with pinpoint precision. Is this why I later qualified as a Navigation Officer in the Merchant Navy twelve years later? But Mr Ogle was an arty-farty type of teacher into music and art as well. He seemed to swan around in his black gown and couldn't be taken too seriously.

 

English and Latin were taught by Mr Glanfield (Glanners). I'm not sure why I don't remember much about him. I suited Latin as it was very regimented, but unfortunately being good in Latin at Brambletye proved completely useless for any application in the rest of my life. Mr Glanfield lived in a room at the end of the dormitory corridor, up a short flight of stairs. I only got whacked by Mr Glanfield once with a hair brush (and I deserved it for being an irritating little shit in the dormitory after lights out). It was he who also developed the "sitting in" form of punishment. For minor mis-demeanors you could get a 15 minute "sit in" for each offence up to a maximum of an hour's worth. When the rest of the school was free to play, anyone on a "sit in" was required to sit upright, in silence, facing forward, in a classroom for just you, a Master to watch over you and any other miscreants doing their "sit in". If you accrued more than an hour's worth of "sit in", you not only had to do your time, but were sent down to see the Headmaster for a bit of serious talking, and maybe a whacking too!

 

Learning the dates of births and deaths of every English King and Queen, major battle and historical event from 1066 until the 20th Century by heart, now doesn't seem such a waste of time when you bump into a foreign tourist who knows British Empire history better than you do. But I couldn't trust the History teacher (whose name I conveniently cannot recall) who showed slightly too much favouritism to certain boys.

 

Science was a mix of chemistry, physics and biology taken by Mr Blencowe, a very mild man, who as headmaster had to be all things to the school. Not only did he have to lead the school in prayer and hymn in chapel, but conduct daily inspections, administor the whole school and invariably fill in for any teacher who was "away" for whatever reason. Science was fun. Apart from the effects of burning sodium and magnesium we had everything from breeding locusts to hatching chicks and copulating Xenopus toads. I remember Mr Blencowe saying something about injecting the toads to make them breed. I know at the time I thought the whole matter strangely peculiar: why was the male, scrabbling franticly at the top of the tank and the female lying completely breathless at the bottom? There were eggs everywhere! This was not mating as I knew it. Normally it is the male that is exhausted! It's taken 34 years for Mr Blencowe to admit he was supposed to give the female a larger dose, but he gave it to the male by mistake!

 

Music lessons were the worry. Singing was not my strength but I learned, as a matter of self-preservation, to mime quite well. Mr Sharpe didn't just have a sharp tongue; his hand could to do some damage too. This didn't just happen in music lessons, but more memorably in chapel rehearsing for the main Sunday service. We would have to sing all the hymns and psalms selected for the next day's service. Mr Sharpe would sit in the organ pit, fingers and feet bouncing off the organ keys and pedals. With back to us, suddenly he wouldn't be happy with what he was hearing, leap out of the pit and race to the pew where he thought the wrong sound was coming from. Miming was no good at this point: you had to start singing quickly – and in tune too! Without the rhythm and backing of the organ it was doubly difficult and we had to continue to sing as he would come along our row, ear cocked to what we sang. If he heard the wrong note a hand would flash out so fast: "Whack!" right across the face!

 

I distinctly remember the row of five classrooms partitioned off from each other by wooden folding doors. At prep or when letter writing on Sunday the doors were folded back to allow one teacher to oversee everyone as they worked in silence. With the partitions closed during the day, we sat in cast iron framed desks with a flip up seat. There was an ink well filled regularly with a jug of the blue stuff. It was often spilt and some boys had significant indelible stains on various parts of their school uniform. Ink was used as an offensive weapon too, either flicked from the nibs of fountain pens or launched as a sodden ball of blotting paper into the front rows of the classroom. In one English lesson I remember a classmate taking several thick rubber bands, placing them over the tip of forefinger and thumb to form a catapault, and then placing a pellet of folded card into the "V", pulling it back, until the elastic would stretch no more before firing it into the bare neck of the boy immediately in front of him. Five minutes later he dared to do it again, but this time his aim was slightly out so that the hardened pellet richochetted off the back of the boy’s head, thudding into the wall of the classroom above Mr Glanfield's head, before falling to the floor near his feet! All hell broke loose then and I had to quickly withdraw both hands from under the desk lid where I had been constructing a Concorde shaped aeroplane out of a felt tip pen body, some paperclips and a folded exercise book cover.

 

There were regular intervals in the day to run off energy, shout and run about. These were often five or ten minute spells between chapel and lessons, tea and chapel, prep and bed along with morning breaktime and after lunch –unless you were a junior of course.

 

In the winter and spring term we changed into our sports gear after lunch. We only played football in the winter term, and rugby in the spring term. In summer, games were played after the afternoon break and we always played cricket.

 

Playing football and rugby in the colder, wetter months, every day was not particularly pleasant. Apart from being hacked to death by Hennicker-Heaton's boots, it was normally wet and cold. Being in the lower league playing fields and being refereed by Colonel Molesworth meant a long trudge from the playing fields up to the school. I hated how his military precision required us to play until the second hand of his watch hit the hour when some of the younger masters, watching the rain clouds gather, would blow the whistle early. Two hundred and forty hot, sweaty and wet boots were taken off and hung up in the small lean-to boot shed which stank like a giant mud wrestlers armpit, before the boys went up to shower. Colonel Molesworth's troop, coming from the furthest field, always arrived last to find the changing rooms awash with muddy water and clods of grass, the wooden duck boards barely allowing you to change into dry clothes only by hanging yourself on the clothes hooks, and reaching down to pull your socks on.

 

If it was too wet to play games, we had to don our macintoshs and "gum" boots and walk up and down the school drive. Normally after two laps from one end to other you were allowed back inside out of the rain! Colonel Molesworth would call out, "Left, right, left, right"………c'mon chaps!"

 

Afternoon tea comprised of filing past to pick up your Marmite sandwich (jam on Sundays) and third of a pint of milk bottle. These were consumed whilst each boy sat on his allocated locker surrounding the main hall. Every day we would pass the crates of milk on the way to breakfast. In summer they sat in the sun and were still there at 3.30pm. Sometimes you could barely press the bottle top to remove it because the pressure had built up so much, and when you could, you would find the top half of the milk completely solid, curdled and sour. Some would clamp a hand over the bottle, shake it vigorously and swallow the lot in one. Some would put it on the floor, and whilst sat on the locker, "knock it over by mistake". This normally resulted in them being given another one to drink!!!

 

After games it was back into the classroom for more lessons until teatime. Too often it was bland macaroni cheese - just macaroni cheese on a plate which was abhorred by every boy. Still were to come "Prep", our homework session of homework carried out in silence in the classroom another parade and chapel service before we normally had half an hour or so of play before bed. With juniors tucked up in bed by 6.30pm, the second years were despatched by 7.00pm, third years at 7.30pm. Even the oldest boys had to be in bed by 8.00pm!

 

Saturday was a "half-day". Lessons and chapel Sunday service rehearsal (watch out for Mr Sharpe) in the morning followed by freetime in the afternoon. Freetime could be spent in many ways. There was a boating pond. Electric boats were rare then, and there was certainly no radio control. Most boats were either free sailing yachts or clockwork powered. We could play rounders, fly model planes, roller skate, do woodwork or pottery, go in the monkey-climb or into the woods. There were marionettes and a steam engine Club too. There were great Chestnut trees so the school went conker mad in October. The school drives were lined with rhododendron bushes and you could in places climb through the bushes without touching the ground for up to 200 yards or so in places. Amongst these boys had dens as they did in the bracken filled bushes of the woods. We had khaki coloured jackets that made us quite camouflaged and apart from the dens there were caverns dug out of the sandstone. These could have been dangerous, but despite having fires in them, the odd roof collapse and "wars" between different groups I'm not aware that there were any casualties.

 

Sunday was different. Instead of lessons we had the full service in the chapel lasting 75 minutes. This sometimes seemed quite interminable, especially when the sun was shining outside, but you couldn't relax because the headmaster's wife, teachers and matrons filled the pews behind you.

 

And then it was to letter writing. We had to write one letter every week. I nearly always wrote to my parents in Germany. It tended to get a bit repetitive although the scores and names could normally be alternated on a regular basis. "I got A minus in Latin. The First Eleven played Ashdown House and we won 5 –2. The Second Eleven lost 2-0. Crompton and Wallis 2 have got German measles and have gone to the sick bay for three days. Only 62 days to go until the end of term and I am looking forward to seeing you (for the first time in 3 months)". Normally we had to bring writing pads to school with us at the start of each term. The trick was to get a small one with widely spaced lines so that Colonel Molesworth's demand for all letters to be two full pages didn't require too many words. Whether it was censorship or not, we had to take them to the front of the class for the teacher to read before we could "finish" which normally on a Sunday meant escape into the woods.

 

Young as we were, the confines of the school were exactly that. There were areas you would never go in. In the woods there was only a small fence that marked the limit of where we were allowed to go. It might only have been a two strand barbed wire fence but I never crossed it. It was as if there was a hidden Nazi watchtower ready to machine gun you if you touched the tripwire. The limits were marked by a two bar metal fence or the drives in other directions, easily enough crossed, but like the shimmering lake, in four years that I was there, what lay outside was not part of my world.

 

But apparently there were two escapes in my time at the school. All of a sudden there were rumours that someone had done a runner, but shortly afterwards the school propaganda system kicked in and the "hero" became someone taken out of school urgently to visit a dying grandmother.

 

I think we bathed twice a week. We lined up in the bathroom, with three tubs, where we would take turns to leap in. I don't think the water was changed, and matron would wash our hair. Every week we had a "sock" night or a "pants" night when everyone would throw that item in big baskets to be washed. Jumpers, shirts and trousers were washed less frequently. Only seniors, and only if they were over 5ft, could wear long trousers. At least once a term we were weighed and our height was recorded. Presumably the details helped our parents to recognise us when they next saw us! “Oh yes, darling, this one’s 4 ft 5 inches and about 5 stone, just like Timothy’s report says: this must be our son!”

 

I do remember a few "special" events. We occasionally were shown a film in the library. Apart from Treasure Island and The Robe these normally frightened me, especially the one of the headless horsemen attacking people in the dark! I only saw television a few times. There were some very basic " watch and learn" type physics programs in black and white but the only other thing I saw on TV was a fuzzy grey, live, image of the some men walking on the moon, for the first time.

 

We had some Spanish guy with long, horny nails come and play classical guitar, which seemed extremely tedious for us and him, and some cowboy who came and shot some balloons in the main hall.

 

Every year there was a school play. I was too young to be in Oliver. Just as well, as I was scared of the Bill Sykes character played by Jonathon Hughes De'Ath. Without girls in the school female parts had to be played by boys. It was whispered that one master reputedly quite fancied Cadicott-Bull who played Nancy. On the same basis I was quite glad I wasn't too attractive in my blonde pigtails, pink dress and Bo-Peep hood as a sailor's girl in the Pirates of Penzance. Playing a black cannibal in HMS Pinafore was much less dubious!

 

There were visitors to the school. Unfortunately one of these was the school dentist. Once a week we got sweets. A table was set up on the main hall stage and class by class we were taken to line up and chose our sweets. We each had a shilling with which you could get two handfuls of packets of sweets. Then decimalisation came in 1971 and we were robbed! Our shilling had become 5p. Straightaway we could only get about half as much. If we weren't robbed here, there were other chances to take advantage of us.

 

Every so often a long haired traveller we called the "Swindler" parked near the school. He had a Commer van. It was stacked with miniature chess sets, models, pen-knives and games. Since leaving the school I've never understood why he was given access as he must have obtained his name and reputation from somewhere. But the knives were the most frequently bought items either for activities in the woods or for playing "splits" where two opponents face each other, with two knives. Each in turn throws their knife into the ground, the opponent having to stretch one foot to the knife leading to them eventually doing the splits. Whilst everyone had a knife (and some might come close in this game) I was never aware of any knives being used as weapons. Anyhow, if in any sort of confrontation all you had to do was raise a hand and shout "Pax" (meaning "Peace" in Latin) and for some mysterious reason you were safe. Similarly if a prowling Master was spotted when boys were doing something they shouldn't, the warning word, "Cave" (pronounced "K.V" and meaning "warning" in Latin) was urgently passed from boy to boy.

 

There was also a barber who visited a school. Everyone got a cut and there was never any discussion over which style would suit. We all got the same. Strange that we sat in a small room having our hair cut next to a large glass case of British stuffed birds. I wondered if we would turn out the same.

 

There were tennis courts and a swimming pool at the school. I didn't take tennis, but one summer a keep fit regime was started. At about 7.00 am we were taken to the tennis courts where we did press-ups, star jumps, and lots of exercises in the dewy, cool morning air. I remembering it lasting a week or so, and then strangely we never did it again.

 

We had rehearsals for Sports Day, practising marching onto the fields, when we would line up in front of the parents in white shorts, T-shirts and rubber plimsolls. We had to compete in at least two events. Not a natural runner I actually surprised myself by getting into the heats of the 100 yard hurdles one year. I couldn't jump consistently high enough to ensure I could clear the hurdles, so I developed a technique to deliberately hit the hurdle but make sure I never tripped on it. I was glad when they introduced a new sport called, "Throwing the cricket ball". Requiring one to take a short run and throw the ball as far as you could in the general direction of "away from you", it was a shame they never introduced this at national level as this might have been something I could have done reasonably well at

 

I had a garden. Those that wanted one were given a six by six plot to till. That's six feet by six feet. Almost everyone who had one turned them to carrots, radishes, lettuces and nasturtiums, which we were persuaded we could eat. Some added these into their Marmite sandwiches and gave mixed reviews.

 

Swimming at Brambletye was definitely to be avoided unless you were a frog or a newt……..and despite the name I was not one of the latter. Fed by a stream, this "pit" was filthy for all but a week of the year. It might have been natural, for it was full of the flora and fauna of East Sussex, but it was icy cold even in the middle of summer. Forced to swim its length as a test I would willingly have covered the distance at the fastest possible speed if it hadn't been for the heart seizures and cramps I got when first entering the water. Fortunately I never showed enough promise to get in the swimming team. How some boys could enthusiastically take up diving I shall never know.

 

In quieter times I enjoyed playing billiards in the library. Also there was a reasonable selection of books but it was Hornblower and the World War Two escape stories I enjoyed most. This was partly lived out in the upper reaches of the school. Removing some of the wood panels in the bathroom, we found we could climb into the roof space and travel extensively throughout the length and breadth of the school at night, above the dormitories and master's bedrooms. If this had been Colditz we would have built a glider up here and escaped to freedom!

 

Some of the fixed steel ladder fire-escapes added to the Colditz feel. Forbidden to use them unless there was a fire practice or real emergency, they were actually so dangerous it was only very rarely we went down them even in a drill.

 

Some steep stairs led to the sick bay in the highest part of the school. Catching something highly contagious was quite desirable as long as it wasn't too life threatening. This meant you were isolated in the sick bay, totally exempt from the normal routine, far from the reach of masters and officers and safely tucked up in the motherly care of the matrons. This was the place to have a good time! An outbreak of measles and chicken-pox was of little use to me as I had reasonable resistance to most diseases and only fell to them when most of the school had already got it. This meant the sick bay was already full and I usually ended up confined to my dormitory back under the gaze of the masters and officers.

 

On the return to each term posted on the notice board there would be all the important dates: start and finish of term, half term, Easter holidays, etc. the holidays were so short, and the terms seemed so long. When I first started at school we were all boarders – day pupils didn't start until 1971. A half term or Easter seemed such luxury. You got a Saturday, Sunday AND Monday off, all together. Normally I went to my grandparents who lived nearby. Once there were about four of us who had nowhere to go. We got to watch television and have jam sandwiches in Mr Ogle's bungalow as compensation! I used to fly unaccompanied to my parents in Germany each holiday or to Wick when they moved to the north of Scotland. Once my brother and I were caught up in the effects of a strike at Edinburgh airport.

 

From time to time they added cut outs of certain articles from the daily newspapers and I remember regular features on the Vietnam War and Cassius Clay who would fight any man in the ring with his fists, but refused to fight in a war.

 

Mail used to arrive regularly and was handed out after breakfast. Seeing my parents only in between terms, I felt particularly lucky having such loving parents who ensured I was always well supplied with very regular, long letters every week. Other boys, some sons of diplomatic staff based in Embassies around the world, saw their parents very rarely, not even going home in the holidays sometimes. Some were lucky to even get a card on their birthday. But most received a parcel from home on their birthday. These were handed out on the matron's landing where they had to be opened in front of the staff. Food, sweets and money were immediately confiscated to be saved and supplied to the individual on a rationed basis.

 

The school changed quite a bit towards the end of my time there as Mr Fowler-Watt was phased in as Headmaster. He had an aggressive look to him and the style of the school became more progressive. Unlike Mr Blencowe who had more of a pained look on his face when a boy's behavior frustrated him, Mr Fowler-Watt could explode in rage. The Scots breeding in him meant the songs of Gilbert & Sullivan were out for the school play and in came the ghouls, witches and blood letting of Shakespeare's Macbeth. Extensions were built to the school, and new Portacabin classes positioned on the ground that was once my garden. And then another class of boy arrived; the day boys, namby pambies who went home to their Mummies every night, and arrived by car, freshly washed and dressed each morning. There was even talk of girls joining the school soon! What was the place coming to?!

 

Having laboured through the Common Entrance Exams to Public School, I left Brambletye to join my parents and brothers now living in the far north of Scotland near John O'Groats. The difference could not have been more extreme. I passed into the comprehensive school with girls (!), straight into the highest stream without need for examination. This was a lucky streak as they were all sons and daughters of nuclear physicists, doctors and engineers imported from the higher echelons of the fast breeder nuclear industry, the Royal Navy and Rolls Royce. Even though I was always towards the lower end of the class, as each year went by, I was dragged along by the very high standards so that on finishing some 30 of the 32 in the class went on to University. Each night I would endure a journey involving two buses taking an hour and a quarter, sometimes battling through blizzards in the dark to deposit my brother, the cattleman's son and I at the end of the mile and a half farm road. We had the freedom to drive our own cars from there to the house even at the age of thirteen.

 

Which type of school was best for me? Both were best. Brambletye undoubtedly taught me self-discipline and respect, kept me fit and healthy. But without life at the comprehensive school I could have been scared of the outside world, completely institutionalised by the limits of the school boundaries and routines. But perhaps I should thank Brambletye for making me want to explore more, starting me on a journey in life that has so far taken me to almost 60 countries. Married now for twenty-five years, with three fine children and director of a highly respected business at Manchester airport I look back on life so far with no regrets and fond memories of my years at Brambletye. I am what I am much because of Brambletye. It's not all good: my wife still has to tell me to change my socks and underwear more frequently!

 

My name never did get on those big boards in the main hall, but featuring in four separate photos in Peter Blencowe's history of the school makes me realise that even though I never made the First Eleven, Second Eleven or even Third Eleven in football, it was the mix of characters and abilities that made the school what it was and every boy can be very proud to have been part of its history.

 

I was surprised, in 2008, to discover Brambletye Preparatory School had risen to become the most expensive prep school in the country.

 

YOUTUBE MOC SHOWCASE:

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=uO8-ADenB4Q&lc=UgxZUsNcp0jejx...

 

After I uploaded my creation for chapter 1 of the book of Boba Fett last week I proudly present to you my newest MOC, this time a scene from chapter 2.

 

ATTENTION!!! SPOILER ALERT!!!

[...]

Fett and his entourage visit Garsa's Sanctuary, which is full of droids and patrons. Taking off his helmet, Fett meets with Garsa, who offers him a table. Fett explains that Mayor Mok Shaiz sent him here on the pretext that there is something that he should know. When Garsa gives a nervous look, Fett remarks that she is sweating like a gumpta on Mustafar. Garsa explains that "the Twins" have laid claim to their late cousin Jabba's bequest. Fett replies that he heard the Twins were preoccupied with Nal Hutta to bother with Tatooine.

 

The cantina grows silent as they hear drums beating in the background. Fett, Shand, and the Gamorreans walk outside to see a procession carrying two Hutts on a litter. As the litter approaches Fett's entourage, the Hutt brother tells Fett that they have business to discuss. Fett replies that this is his territory, prompting the Hutt brother to reiterate that this is Jabba's territory and now theirs. One of the drummers presents a tablet stating the Hutts' claim to Tatooine.

 

Fett rejects their claim, stating that he is the Daimyo of Mos Espa. The Hutts laugh, with the brother asking if this is so. An armed black Wookiee known as Black Krrsantan, who is armed with a heavy blaster, approaches Fett and his entourage. Fett is not intimidated, stating that these are not the death pits of Duur, and that he is not a sleeping Trandoshan guard. Fett replies that Mos Espa is his territory and tells them to go back to Nal Hutta. The Hutt sister speaks in Huttese. Her brother replies that Fett has upset his sister and that he is more patient than her, who wants to kill him.

 

As Shand and Krrsantan load their weapons, Fett explains that Jabba is gone and that his former majordomo Bib Fortuna usurped his territory. Since Fett killed him, all that belonged to Fortuna now belongs to him. Fett says that they will have to kill him for it. The two Hutt siblings speak. The Hutt brother says that bloodshed is bad for business and that this matter can be dealt with later, though he warns Fett to sleep lightly.

 

As the drummers beat their drums, the two Hutts withdraw. Black Krrsantan growls at Fett before walking away as well. Shand tells Fett that they will have to get permission to kill them since they are Hutts. Fett suggests that the matter is settled but accepts that it is not yet over. [...]

 

My creation shows the arrival of Jabba's cousins in the streets of Mos Espa. For the cousins I bought a second version of the Jabba minifigure (the one with the gray face to have a little difference between them).

 

Hopefully you enjoy the second chapter of the disney + series like I did and I hope you enjoy that creation too.

 

Greetings Kevin

Many folks ask me how I manage to get this close to a copperhead snake. My reply: “That’s not a copperhead.” Their reply: “You speak with forked tongue!” My reply: “Well, no, but this fella does.” I respect snakes, but I have no fear of them, largely because my mom did have an unreasonable fear of all things scaly. Fear usually results from lack of knowledge. I’ve studied them throughout the years… I can easily identify most any snake indigenous to the southern United States and I understand their behavior. Apart from a few aggressive snakes, most snakes would never bother you unless you bother them. Saying that, I do realize that I’ve been chased from many a good fishing hole in Florida and Georgia by some ill-tempered water moccasins… it’s better to find another spot than to be bitten by those critters. I’ve had better encounters with alligators than I’ve had with water moccasins that often showed me how they got their other moniker, the cottonmouth, as they let me know how displeased they were with my proximity… and I was usually there first!

 

This is not a copperhead, but rather a northern water snake. It is banded with similar colors of a copperhead, but the copperhead is mottled rather than banded. It also has a round pupil as opposed to the copperhead’s vertical pupil, much like a cat’s eye. It also doesn’t have the broad head of a pit viper, as does the copperhead. Though the northern water snake is essentially harmless to people, it does have teeth and will bite if threatened, so it’s best to just leave them alone.

 

The banding of water snakes is excellent camouflage in the dappled light of its watery domain, though not all are banded. The color scheme of copperheads makes them nearly invisible this time of year amongst fallen leaves. The North Carolina coast is the perfect habitat for many venomous snakes such as canebrakes, diamondback rattlers, moccasins, and coral snakes. The North Carolina mountains is a great environment for both timber and diamondback rattlers, as well as copperheads. Durham, situated between the uplands and the coastal plains in a geomorphic area defined as a fall line, has only one species of venomous snake… the copperhead. While it may be the only pit viper in the area, there are a lot of them, so it’s not unusual to come across them… you need to be extra vigilant this time of year.

 

Once upon a time, I lived on a farm not far away in Mebane. A brilliant maple had already shed a blanket of colorful leaves across the yard one beautiful fall day. I admired that as I inspected my grill… it would be used later that day for dinner with friends. As I turned to go back to the cabin for cleaning supplies, I heard more than saw movement near my feet… it was one of the biggest copperheads I’d ever seen in the wild. It was beautiful and blended easily with the fallen leaves. Under normal circumstances, I’d have just attempted to chase it off to the fields where it could be happy chasing the myriad of mice there… that would make me happy, too, as I had worse incidents with mice than I had with snakes. With so many places to hide, including beneath the leaves, however, I thought it better to dispatch this rascal than for it to be a problem for my guests. I eased around it and went for my rifle. As I’d figured, it wasn’t where I left it when I returned. I scanned for it and moved carefully toward the tree. I must have stood in the last spot for ten minutes before I finally saw it raised up out of the leaves not more than eight feet from me, watching my every move… again, I believe it was the slight movement of its head rather than the shape that caught my eye. I knew what I was looking for, yet it was so difficult to see in the leaves. That made me realize that even your utmost attentiveness may not be enough, so walk a clear path in the woods and wear better footgear than sandals and flipflops. Heat-seeking pit vipers would easily target that.

 

For those of you who wonder about my fascination of creatures that my mother so feared, here’s how that happened: the first movie I remember seeing was Tarzan's Desert Mystery, starring Johnny Weissmuller as Tarzan. It was a classic black & white movie, but that didn't matter, as our brand-new TV back in that day was black & white too. That was around 1960, and it made an impression on the five-year-old me. I WAS Tarzan! In that movie, Jane is away, doing her part as a nurse in the war effort, while Tarzan and Boy do their part in retrieving rare medicinal herbs for the Allies, but their efforts are hindered by the strange flora and fauna of the mysterious desert, two such creatures something totally new to me... dinosaurs! Or a reasonable facsimile for back in the day. They were actually an iguana and a monitor lizard (dressed in "dinosaur" movie makeup), shot closeup while tussling with each other to look like big monsters on the silver screens of 1943. As is the way of the military, we moved around a lot, and shortly thereafter we lived in a place in California with a canal nearby... with pilings... where iguanas sunned themselves... and I was going have myself a dinosaur. For some reason, I was pulling my baby brother along with me in a little red wagon, perhaps to throw my mother off as to my true intentions... to sneak up on a huge snoozing lizard and wrestle it to submission. I did exactly that, though it turns out they're quite alert even when they appear not to be... after a bit of struggle, I securely snugged one up under my arm with a grip on its throat to keep it from biting me, and then made my way back home with my brother in tow. My mom opened the door for me as I kicked it… I was busy with a huge snapping lizard in one hand and holding onto my brother with the other hand.

 

What I remember most after that was my mom's face contorting to accommodate the hair-raising scream she loosed on me... and then she slammed the door on me. I don't know what my brother thought about that, but his hair hasn't been the same since. I was a little older and more used to such situations. Even so, I couldn’t understand what the big deal was that caused such a reaction. She had apparently called my dad with concern to an emergency at home... he showed up shortly afterward. In ways that truly good dads do, he explained reality to me without shooting my youthful enthusiasm down in flames... I could either live with the iguana, that would never love me, or with my momma who fed and cared for me... but, as she had a fear of reptiles, I couldn't live with both... and then he added that she needed me to keep such critters away. I've always been a sucker for those in need... what else could I do? Even Tarzan kept those pesky lions and crocodiles at bay. While Tarzan is a fictional character, the impression I had was that he didn’t fear animals. Rather, he realized that this is their world, too, and he respected and understood them. About eleven years later, I met Johnny Weissmuller, and a very old and blind Cheetah (the chimpanzee), in Titusville, Florida. I told him that he had gotten me into trouble... he laughed.

 

By the way, are you experiencing problems with the Flickr map? It seems to be fascinated with the All Star Mobile Home Park, as this isn't the first time it's made note of it. This was taken at Yates Mill Park in Raleigh. I know. I was there.

A trip to Nottingham’s Highfields Park gave me plenty of opportunity to approach people to see if they’d be willing to let me photograph them for my stranger project.

 

Molly was walking towards me, so I stepped forward and introduced the project to her. Molly didn’t hesitate in saying yes to being photographed. As we’d met right near the edge of the lake, I decided to use it as a background. The sun had gone behind a light cover of cloud, which produced a beautiful soft light that was easy to work with. Every now and again I had to wait for a rowing boat to move out of frame and for one or two ducks that took off from the water behind Molly.

 

Molly is in her second year of a three-year course in Criminology. Molly would like to get a job in the Civil Service but hasn’t made her mind up as to which area she’d like to work in yet.

 

When not studying Molly plays as a forward for Beeston Hockey Club. Molly also plays polo for the university team and said she has always ridden horses, adding that her mother owns quite a few. Even though her mum wants her to explore other forms of horse riding, Molly said she’s sticking with polo.

 

I asked Molly what her guilty pleasure was and she said listening to Taylor Swift.

 

If Molly was to describe herself in one word, what would that be? “Indecisive,” she said.

 

What is Molly’s biggest strength? “Being resilient,” was her reply.

 

If Molly met her younger self, what advice would she pass on? “Don’t worry and enjoy things for what they are,” she said.

 

Thank-you Molly for agreeing to be photographed for my stranger project. I hope you like your portrait.

 

This picture is #271 in the 100 Strangers project, yes, I’ve decided to do a third round. Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at the 100 Strangers Flickr Group page

 

This is my 243rd submission to the Human Family Group. To view more street portraits and stories visit www.flickr.com/groups/thehumanfamily/

*********************

The Avengers is a spy-fi British television series created in the 1960s. The Avengers initially focused on Dr. David Keel (Ian Hendry) and his assistant John Steed (Patrick Macnee). Hendry left after the first series and Steed became the main character, partnered with a succession of assistants. Steed's most famous assistants were intelligent, stylish and assertive women: Cathy Gale (Honor Blackman), Emma Peel (Diana Rigg), and later Tara King (Linda Thorson). Later episodes increasingly incorporated elements of science fiction and fantasy, parody and British eccentricity. The Avengers ran from 1961 until 1969, screening as one hour episodes its entire run.

 

The pilot episode, "Hot Snow", aired on 7 January 1961.

The final episode, "Bizarre", aired on 21 May 1969.

 

The Avengers was produced by ABC Television, a contractor within the ITV network. After a merger in July 1968 ABC Television became Thames Television, which continued production of the series although it was still broadcast under the ABC name. By 1969 The Avengers was shown in more than 90 countries. ITV produced a sequel series The New Avengers (1976–1977) with Patrick Macnee returning as John Steed, and two new partners.

 

In 2007 The Avengers was ranked #20 on TV Guide's Top Cult Shows Ever

 

1961: With Dr David Keel (Ian Hendry)

 

The Avengers began in the episode Hot Snow, with medical doctor, Dr David Keel (Ian Hendry), investigating the murder of his fiancée and office receptionist Peggy by a drug ring. A stranger named John Steed, who was investigating the ring, appeared and together they set out to avenge her death in the first two episodes. Afterwards, Steed asked Keel to partner him as needed to solve crimes.

 

The Avengers followed Hendry's Police Surgeon, in which he played police surgeon Geoffrey Brent.[3] While Police Surgeon did not last long, viewers praised Hendry. Hendry was considered the star of the new series, receiving top billing over Macnee, and Steed did not appear in two episodes.

 

As the series progressed, Steed's importance increased, and he carried the final episode solo. While Steed and Keel used wit while discussing crimes and dangers, the series also depicted the interplay—and often tension—between Keel's idealism and Steed's professionalism. As seen in one of the two surviving episodes from the first series, "The Frighteners", Steed also had helpers among the population who provided information, similar to the "Baker Street Irregulars" of Sherlock Holmes.

 

The other regular in the first series was Carol Wilson (Ingrid Hafner), the nurse and receptionist who replaced the slain Peggy. Carol assisted Keel and Steed in cases, without being part of Steed's inner circle. Hafner had played opposite Hendry as a nurse in Police Surgeon.[3]

 

The series was shot on 405-line videotape using a multicamera setup. There was little provision for editing and virtually no location footage (although the very first shot of the first episode consisted of location footage). As was standard practice at the time, videotapes of early episodes of The Avengers were reused. Of the first series, two complete episodes still exist, as 16 mm film telerecordings. One of the episodes remaining does not feature Steed. The first 15 minutes of the first episode also exists as a telerecording; the extant footage ends at the conclusion of the first act, prior to the introduction of John Steed.

 

The missing television episodes are currently being re-created for audio by Big Finish Productions under the title of The Avengers - The Lost Episodes[4] and star Julian Wadham as Steed, Anthony Howell as Dr. Keel and Lucy Briggs-Owen as Carol Wilson.

 

1962–64: With Cathy Gale (Honor Blackman), Venus Smith (Julie Stevens) and Dr Martin King (Jon Rollason)

  

Patrick Macnee as John Steed and Honor Blackman as Cathy Gale

Production of the first series was cut short by a strike. By the time production could begin on the second series, Hendry had quit to pursue a film career. Macnee was promoted to star and Steed became the focus of the series, initially working with a rotation of three different partners. Dr Martin King (Jon Rollason), a thinly disguised rewriting of Keel, saw action in only three episodes produced from scripts written for the first series. King was intended to be a transitional character between Keel and Steed's two new female partners, but while the Dr. King episodes were shot first, they were shown out of production order in the middle of the season. The character was thereafter quickly and quietly dropped.

 

Nightclub singer Venus Smith (Julie Stevens) appeared in six episodes. She was a complete "amateur", meaning that she did not have any professional crime-fighting skills as did the two doctors. She was excited to be participating in a "spy" adventure alongside secret agent Steed (although at least one episode—"The Removal Men"—indicates she is not always enthusiastic). Nonetheless, she appears to be attracted to him and their relationship appears similar to that later displayed between Steed and Tara King. Her episodes featured musical interludes showcasing her singing performances. The character of Venus underwent some revision during her run, adopting more youthful demeanour and dress.

 

The first episode broadcast in the second series had introduced the partner who would change the show into the format for which it is most remembered. Honor Blackman played Dr Cathy Gale, a self-assured, quick-witted anthropologist who was skilled in judo and had a passion for wearing leather clothes.[5] Widowed during the Mau Mau years in Kenya, she was the "talented amateur" who saw her aid to Steed's cases as a service to her nation. Gale was said to have been born 5 October 1930 at midnight, and was raised in Africa. Gale was early-to-mid 30s during her tenure, in contrast to female characters in similar series who tended to be younger.

 

Gale was unlike any female character seen before on British TV and became a household name. Reportedly, part of her charm came from the fact that her earliest appearances were episodes in which dialogue written for Keel was simply transferred to her. Said series script writer Dennis Spooner "there's the famous story of how Honor Blackman played Ian Hendry's part, which is why they stuck her in leather and such—it was so much cheaper than changing the lines!"[6]

 

Venus Smith did not return for the third series and Cathy Gale became Steed's only regular partner. The series established a level of sexual tension between Steed and Gale, but the writers were not allowed to go beyond flirting and innuendo. Despite this the relationship between Steed and Gale was progressive for 1962–63. In "The Golden Eggs" it is revealed that Gale lived in Steed's flat; her rent according to Steed was to keep the refrigerator well-stocked and to cook for him (she appears to do neither). However, this was said to be a temporary arrangement while Gale looked for a new home, and Steed was sleeping at a hotel.

 

During the first series there were hints Steed worked for a branch of British Intelligence, and this was expanded in the second series. Steed initially received orders from different superiors, including someone referred to as "Charles", and "One-Ten" (Douglas Muir). By the third series the delivery of Steed's orders was not depicted on screen or explained. In "The Nutshell" the secret organisation to which Steed belongs is shown, and it is Gale's first visit to their HQ.

 

Small references to Steed's background were occasionally made. In series three's "Death of a Batman" it was said that Steed was with I Corps in World War II, and in Munich in 1945. In series four episode "The Hour That Never Was" Steed goes to a reunion of his RAF regiment.

 

A film version of the series was in its initial planning stages by late 1963 after series three was completed. An early story proposal paired Steed and Gale with a male and female duo of American agents, to make the movie appeal to the American market. Before the project could gain momentum Blackman was cast opposite Sean Connery in Goldfinger, requiring her to leave the series.

 

Series transformation

 

During the Gale era, Steed was transformed from a rugged trenchcoat-wearing agent into the stereotypical English gentleman (he had first donned bowler and carried his distinctive umbrella part way through the first season as 'The Frighteners' depicts), complete with Savile Row suit, bowler hat and umbrella with clothes later designed by Pierre Cardin. (The bowler and umbrella were soon changed to be full of tricks, including a sword hidden within the umbrella handle and a steel plate concealed in the hat.) These items were referred to in the French, German and Polish titles of the series, Chapeau melon et bottes de cuir ("Bowler hat and leather boots"), Mit Schirm, Charme und Melone ("With Umbrella, Charm and Bowler Hat") and Rewolwer i melonik ("A Revolver and a Bowler Hat"), respectively. With his impeccable manners, old world sophistication, and vintage automobiles, Steed came to represent the traditional Englishman of an earlier era.

 

By contrast his partners were youthful, forward-looking, and always dressed in the latest mod fashions. Gale's innovative leather outfits suited her many athletic fight scenes. Honor Blackman became a star in Britain with her black leather outfits and boots (nicknamed "kinky boots") and her judo-based fighting style. Macnee and Blackman even released a novelty song called "Kinky Boots". Some of the clothes seen in The Avengers were designed at the studio of John Sutcliffe who published the AtomAge fetish magazine.

 

Series script writer Dennis Spooner said that the series would frequently feature Steed visiting busy public places such as the main airport in London, without anyone else present in the scene. "'Can't you afford extras?' they'd ask. Well it wasn't like that; it's just that Steed had to be alone to be accepted. Put him in a crowd and he sticks out like a sore thumb! Let's face it, with normal people he's weird. The trick to making him acceptable is never to show him in a normal world, just fighting villains who are odder than he is!"[6]

 

1965–68: With Emma Peel (Diana Rigg)

 

In 1965 the show was sold to United States network, the American Broadcasting Company (ABC). The Avengers became one of the first British series to be aired on prime time U.S. television. The ABC network paid the then-unheard of sum of $2 million for the first 26 episodes. The average budget for each episode was reportedly £56,000, high for the British industry. The fourth series aired in the U.S. from March to December 1966.

 

Previously The Avengers had been shot on 405-line videotape using a multicamera setup, with very little provision for editing and virtually no location footage. The U.S. deal meant that the producers could afford to start shooting the series on 35mm film. The use of film rather than videotape was essential, as British 405-line video was technically incompatible with the U.S. NTSC videotape format. Filmed productions were standard on U.S. prime time television at that time. The Avengers continued to be produced in black and white.

 

The transfer to film meant that episodes would be shot using the single camera setup, giving the production greater flexibility. The use of film production and the single camera production style allowed more sophisticated visuals and camera angles and more outdoor location shots, all of which greatly improved the look of the series. As was standard on British television filmed production through the 1960s, all location work on series four was shot mute with the soundtrack created in post production. Dialogue scenes were filmed in the studio, leading to some jumps between location and studio footage.

     

Diana Rigg as Mrs Emma Peel

New female partner Mrs Emma Peel (Diana Rigg) debuted in this series, in October 1965. The name of the character derived from a comment by writers, during development, that they wanted a character with "man appeal". In an early attempt to incorporate this concept into the character's name, she was called "Samantha Peel", shortened to the awkward "Mantha Peel".[7] Eventually the writers began referring to the idea by the verbal shorthand, "M. Appeal",[8] which gave rise to the character's ultimate name. Emma Peel, whose husband went missing while flying over the Amazon, retained the self-assuredness of Gale, combined with superior fighting skills, intelligence, and a contemporary fashion sense.

 

After more than 60 actresses had been auditioned, the first choice to play the role was Elizabeth Shepherd. However, after filming one and a half episodes (the pilot; 'The Town of No Return' and part of 'The Murder Market'), Shepherd was released. Her on-screen personality was deemed less interesting than that of Blackman's Gale and it was decided she was not right for the role. Another 20 actresses were auditioned before the show's casting director suggested that producers Brian Clemens and Albert Fennell check out a televised drama featuring the relatively unknown Rigg (she had earlier guested in an episode of the TV show; 'The Sentimental Agent' that Clemens had written). Her screen test with Macnee showed that the two immediately worked well together, and a new era in Avengers history began.

 

A prologue was added to the beginning of all the fourth series episodes for the American transmissions. This was to clarify some initial confusion audiences had regarding the characters and their mission. In the opener, a waiter holding a champagne bottle falls dead onto a human-sized chessboard; a dagger protruding from a target on his back. Steed and Mrs. Peel (dressed in her trademark leather catsuit) walk up to the body as the voice over explains: "Extraordinary crimes against the people, and the state, have to be avenged by agents extraordinary. Two such people are John Steed, top professional, and his partner Emma Peel, talented amateur. Otherwise known as The Avengers." During this voice over, Steed pours two drinks from the wine bottle and Mrs Peel replaces her gun in her boot. They clink glasses and depart together. Fade to black and then the opening titles proper begin.

     

Film location plate presented by ABC TV to the Stapleford Miniature Railway, which is still in use today

In contrast to the Gale episodes, there was a lighter, comic touch in Steed and Peel's interactions with each other and their reactions to other characters and situations. Earlier series had a harder tone, with the Gale era including some quite serious espionage dramas. This almost completely disappeared as Steed and Peel visibly enjoyed topping each other's witticisms. The layer of conflict with Gale – who on occasion openly resented being used by Steed, often without her permission – was absent from Steed's interaction with Peel. Also the sexual tension between Steed and Gale was not present with Peel. In both cases, the exact relationship between the partners was left ambiguous, although they seemed to have carte blanche to visit each other's homes whenever they pleased and it was not uncommon for scenes to suggest Steed had spent the night at Gale's or Peel's home, or vice-versa. Although nothing "improper" was displayed, the obviously much closer chemistry between Steed and Peel constantly suggests intimacy between the two.

 

Science fiction fantasy elements (a style later known as Spy-fi) emerged in stories. The duo encountered killer robots ("The Cybernauts") and giant alien carnivorous plants ("The Man-Eater of Surrey Green").

 

In her fourth episode, "Death at Bargain Prices", Mrs Peel takes an undercover job at a department store. Her uniform for promoting space-age toys is an elaborate leather catsuit plus silver boots, sash, and welder's gloves. The suit minus the silver accessories became her signature outfit, which she wore primarily for fight scenes, in early episodes, and in the titles. There was a fetishistic undercurrent in some episodes. In "A Touch of Brimstone" Mrs Peel dressed in a dominatrix outfit of corset, laced boots and spiked collar to become the "Queen of Sin".

 

Peel's avant-garde fashions, featuring bold accents and high-contrast geometric patterns, emphasized her youthful, contemporary personality. She represented the modern England of the Sixties – just as Steed, with his vintage style and mannerisms, personified Edwardian era nostalgia. According to Macnee in his book The Avengers and Me, Rigg disliked wearing leather and insisted on a new line of fabric athletic wear for the fifth series. Alun Hughes, who had designed clothing for Diana Rigg's personal wardrobe, was suggested by the actress to design Emma Peel's "softer" new wardrobe. Pierre Cardin was brought in to design a new wardrobe for Macnee. In America, TV Guide ran a four-page photospread on Rigg's new "Emmapeeler" outfits (10–16 June 1967). Eight tight-fitting jumpsuits in a variety of bright colors were created using the stretch fabric crimplene.

 

Another memorable feature of the show from this point onwards was its automobiles. Steed's signature cars were vintage 1926–1928 Bentley racing or town cars, including Blower Bentleys and Bentley Speed Sixes (although, uniquely, in "The Thirteenth Hole" he drives a Vauxhall 30/98), while Peel drove a sporty Lotus Elan convertible which, like her clothes, emphasized her independence and vitality. During the first Peel series, each episode ended with a short, comedic scene of the duo leaving the scene of their most recent adventure in some unusual vehicle.

 

For this series Diana Rigg's stunt double was stuntman Billy Westley, Patrick Macnee's stunt double was Peter Clay.

 

Fifth series

 

After one filmed series (of 26 episodes) in black and white, The Avengers began filming in colour for the fifth series in 1966. It was three years before Britain's ITV network began full colour broadcasting.

 

This series was broadcast in the U.S. from January to May 1967. The American prologue of the previous series was rejigged for the colour episodes. It opened with the caption The Avengers In Color (required by ABC for colour series at that time). This was followed by Steed unwrapping the foil from a champagne bottle and Peel shooting the cork away. (Unlike the "chessboard" opening of the previous series, this new prologue was also included in UK broadcasts of the series.)

 

The first 16 episodes of the fifth series begin with Peel receiving a call-to-duty message from Steed: "Mrs Peel, we're needed." Peel was conducting her normal activities when she unexpectedly received a message on a calling card or within a delivered gift, at which point Steed suddenly appeared (usually in her apartment). The messages were delivered by Steed in increasingly bizarre ways as the series progressed: in a newspaper Peel had just bought, or on traffic lights while she was out driving. On one occasion Steed appeared on her television set, interrupting an old science-fiction movie (actually clips from their Year Four episode "The Cybernauts") to call her to work. Another way Steed contacted her was in the beginning of episode 13, "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Station" when she enters her flat and sees a Meccano Percy the Small Engine going around a circular track with a note on one of the train cars that says "Mrs. Peel" in bold letters, she then walks over to Steed who says "you're needed". At the start of "The Hidden Tiger" Peel is redecorating her apartment (wearing a jumpsuit and drinking champagne); she peels off a strip of wallpaper, revealing the words "Mrs Peel" painted on the wall beneath. She turns to see Steed in the apartment removing another strip of wallpaper, revealing "We're needed" painted underneath on another wall. In another instance Emma enters Steed's flat to find he has just fallen down the stairs, and he painfully gasps, "Mrs Peel, you're needed." Often the episode's tag scene returned to the situation of the "Mrs Peel, we're needed" scene. "The Hidden Tiger" returns to the partially redecorated apartment where Steed begins painting a love heart and arrow and the initials of two people on the wall, but paints over the initials when Peel sees his graffito. In "The Superlative Seven" the call to duty and the tag both involve a duck shooting situation where unexpected items fall from the sky after shots are fired.

 

The series also introduced a comic tag line caption to the episode title, using the format of "Steed [does this], Emma [does that]." For example "The Joker" had the opening caption: "Steed trumps an ace, Emma plays a lone hand".('The Joker' was to a large extent a re-write colour episode of the earlier Cathy Gale b/w era story; 'Don't Look Behind You' as were a few other later episodes re-writes in colour of b/w era tales.)

 

The "Mrs Peel, we're needed" scenes and the alternate tag lines were dropped after the first 16 episodes, after a break in production, for financial reasons. They were deemed by the U.K. networks as disposable if The Avengers was to return to ITV screens. (Dave Rogers' book The Avengers Anew lists a set for every Steed/Peel episode except "The Forget-Me-Knot".)

 

Stories were increasingly characterised by a futuristic, science fiction bent, with mad scientists and their creations wreaking havoc. The duo dealt with being shrunk to doll size ("Mission... Highly Improbable"), pet cats being electrically altered into ferocious and lethal "miniature tigers" ("The Hidden Tiger"), killer automata ("Return of The Cybernauts"), mind-transferring machines ("Who's Who???"), and invisible foes ("The See-Through Man").

 

The series parodied its American contemporaries with episodes such as "The Girl From AUNTIE", "Mission... Highly Improbable" and "The Winged Avenger" (spoofing The Man from U.N.C.L.E., Mission: Impossible and Batman, respectively). The show still carried the basic format – Steed and his associate were charged with solving the problem in the space of a 50-minute episode, thus preserving the safety of 1960s Britain.

 

Comedy was evident in the names and acronyms of the organizations. For example, in "The Living Dead", two rival groups examine reported ghost sightings: FOG (Friends Of Ghosts) and SMOG (Scientific Measurement Of Ghosts). "The Hidden Tiger" features the Philanthropic Union for Rescue, Relief and Recuperation of Cats—PURRR—led by characters named Cheshire, Manx, and Angora.

 

The series also occasionally adopted a metafictional tone, coming close to breaking the fourth wall. In the series 5 episode "Something Nasty in the Nursery" Peel directly references the series' storytelling convention of having potentially helpful sources of information killed off just before she or Steed arrive. This then occurs a few minutes later. In the tag scene for the same episode, Steed and Peel tell viewers – indirectly – to tune in next week.

 

For this series Diana Rigg's stunt double was stuntwoman Cyd Child, though stuntman Peter Elliot doubled for Rigg in a stunt dive in "The Bird Who Knew Too Much".

 

Rigg's departure

 

Rigg was initially unhappy with the way she was treated by the show's producers. During her first series she learned she was being paid less than the camera man. She demanded a raise, to put her more on a par with her co-star, or she would leave the show. The producers gave in, thanks to the show's great popularity in the US.

 

At the end of the fifth series in 1967, Rigg left to pursue other projects. This included following Honor Blackman to play a leading role in a James Bond film, in this case On Her Majesty's Secret Service.

 

Rigg and Macnee have remained lifelong friends.

 

1968–69: With Tara King (Linda Thorson)

  

Thorson and Macnee

When Diana Rigg left the series in October 1967, the British network executives decided that the current series formula, despite resulting in popular success, could not be pursued further. Thus they decided that a "return to realism" was appropriate for the sixth series (1968–69). Brian Clemens and Albert Fennel were replaced by John Bryce, producer of most of the Cathy Gale-era episodes.

 

Bryce had a difficult situation in hand. He had to find a replacement for Diana Rigg and shoot the first seven episodes of the new series, which were supposed to be shipped to America together with the last eight Emma Peel colour episodes.

 

Bryce signed his then-girlfriend, 20-year-old newcomer Linda Thorson, as the new female costar and chose the name "Tara King" for her character. Thorson played the role with more innocence in mind and at heart; and unlike the previous partnerships with Cathy and Emma, the writers allowed subtle hints of romance to blossom between Steed and King. King also differed from Steed's previous partners in that she was a fully fledged (albeit initially inexperienced) agent working for Steed's organisation; his previous partners had all been (in the words of the prologue used for American broadcasts of the first Rigg series) talented amateurs. Bryce wanted Tara to be blonde, so Thorson's brown hair was bleached. However the process badly damaged Thorson's hair, so she had to wear wigs for the first third of her episodes, until her own hair grew back. Her natural brown hair was not seen until the episode "All Done with Mirrors".

 

Production of the first seven episodes of the sixth series began. However financial problems and internal difficulties undermined Bryce's effort. He only managed to complete three episodes: "Invitation to a Killing" (a 90-minute episode introducing Tara King), "The Great, Great Britain Crime" (some of its original footage was reused in the 1969 episode "Homicide and Old Lace") and "Invasion of the Earthmen" (which survived relatively intact except for the scenes in which Tara wears a brown wig.)

 

After a rough cut screening of these episodes to studio executives, Bryce was fired and Clemens and Fennel were summoned back. At their return, a fourth episode called "The Murderous Connection" was in its second day of production. After revising the script, it was renamed as "The Curious Case of the Countless Clues" and production was resumed. Production of the episode "Split!", a leftover script from the Emma Peel colour series, proceeded. Two completely new episodes were also shot: "Get-A-Way", and "Look (Stop Me If You've Heard This One) But There Were These Two Fellers".

 

Dennis Spooner said of the event that "Brian left The Avengers for about three episodes, someone took over, and when Brian came back, it was in a terrible state. He was faced with doing a rewrite on a film they'd already shot." The episode had a story error where Steed leaves for a destination. The villains then realise this and pursue him – yet arrive there before Steed does. It was fixed by having a character ask Steed 'What took you so long?', to which he replies 'I came the pretty way'. "You can only do that on The Avengers you see. It was just my favourite show to work on."[10]

 

Clemens and Fennel decided to film a new episode to introduce Tara King. This, the third episode filmed for the sixth series, was titled "The Forget-Me-Knot" and bade farewell to Emma Peel and introduced her successor, a trained but inexperienced agent named Tara King. It would be broadcast as the first episode of the sixth series. Tara debuts in dynamic style: when Steed is called to Headquarters, he is attacked and knocked down by trainee agent King who mistakes him for her training partner.

 

No farewell scenes for Emma Peel had been shot when Diana Rigg left the series. Rigg was recalled for "The Forget-Me-Knot", through which Emma acts as Steed's partner as usual. Rigg also filmed a farewell scene for Emma which appeared as the tag scene of the episode. It was explained that Emma's husband, Peter Peel, was found alive and rescued, and she left the British secret service to be with him. Emma visits Steed to say goodbye, and while leaving she passes Tara on the stairway giving the advice that "He likes his tea stirred anti-clockwise." Steed looks out the window as a departing Emma enters the Bentley driven by Peter – who from a distance seems to resemble Steed (and was played by Patrick Macnee, wearing a bowler hat and umbrella).

 

Bryce's original episode introducing Tara, "Invitation to a Killing", was revised as a regular 60-minute episode named "Have Guns Will Haggle". These episodes, together with "Invasion of the Earthmen" and the last eight Peel colour episodes, were shipped to America in February 1968.

 

For this series the government official who gave Steed his orders was depicted on screen. Mother, introduced in "The Forget-Me-Knot", is a man in a wheelchair. The role was taken by Patrick Newell who had played different roles in two earlier episodes, most recently in series five. Mother's headquarters would shift from place to place, including one episode where his complete office was on the top level of a double-decker bus. (Several James Bond films of the 1970s would make use of a similar gimmick for Bond's briefings.)

 

Added later as a regular was Mother's mute Amazonian assistant, Rhonda (Rhonda Parker). There was one appearance by an agency official code-named "Father", a blind older woman played by Iris Russell. (Russell had appeared in the series several times previously in other roles.) In one episode, "Killer", Steed is paired with Lady Diana Forbes Blakeney (Jennifer Croxton) while King is on holiday.

 

Scriptwriter Dennis Spooner later reflected on this series. "When I wrote "Look (Stop Me If You've Heard This One) But There Were These Two Fellers", that was definitely the last series. They were going to make no more, so in that series we went right over the top; we went really weird, because they knew there weren't going to be any more."[11]

 

Spooner said the series "worked because it became a parody on itself, almost. You can only do that so long." Overall he attributes the success of the show to its light approach. "We spoofed everything, we took Mission: Impossible, Bad Day at Black Rock, High Noon, The Dirty Dozen, The Birds... we took them all. The film buffs used to love it. There were always lines in it that people knew what we were talking about."[11]

 

Vehicle wise, Steed continued to drive vintage green Bentleys in the first seven episodes in production. His regular transport for the remainder of the series were two yellow Rolls-Royce cars. Mother also occasionally appeared in silver Rolls-Royces. Tara King drove an AC 428 and a Lotus Europa. Lady Diana Forbes Blakeney drove an MGC Roadster.

 

The revised series continued to be broadcast in America. The episodes with Linda Thorson as King proved to be highly rated in Europe and the UK. In the United States however, the ABC network that carried the series chose to air it opposite the number one show in the country at the time, Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In. Steed and King could not compete, and the show was cancelled in the US. Without this vital commercial backing, production could not continue in Britain either, and the series ended in May 1969. The final scene of the final episode ("Bizarre") has Steed and King, champagne glasses in hand, accidentally launching themselves into orbit aboard a rocket, as Mother breaks the fourth wall and says to the audience, "They'll be back!" before adding in shock, "They're unchaperoned up there!"

 

************************************************************************************

Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives, 1960

 

Thank you to those who have made me their contact. Due to poor health, eye problems and low energy I regret I can't take on any new contacts but nearly always manage to reply to your comments. Please no more than 1 invite.

Most people know how much I love ballet so you won't be surprised by these photos. Salt & Pepper just released this most gorgeous ballet set at Uber but of course, it's not easy to get in. "Did you get into Uber yet?" asked a friend. "Not yet, I'm ever hopeful," I replied. We both knew exactly what we were talking about without any mention of it. The next thing I knew, this friend had gifted me with the whole gorgeous set. Thank you so much, my incredibly kind and generous friend, SouthernComfort Magic. These images are dedicated to you.

This lady (through our interpreter) had a great sense of humour! When her husband asked me to take her away, I responded - it is a little colder where I come from. She immediately replied - "you could buy me a coat" Lol

A Tornado Gr4 in the Markings of XV Squadron Royal Air Force F-LS carrying the legend "Macroberts Reply" cuts low level through the Scottish Borders one more time as it leaves its Scottish home at RAF Lossiemouth for the last time to RAF Marham in Norfolk following the disbandment of XV Squadron as part of the drawing down of Tornado Operations with all frontline Tornado Ops being based at the Norfolk base.

Spent almost a whole day to reply emails... It is hard for me to rejected orders again and again. I know I need to make more full sets to bring my works to a next level. Nude dolls don't represent all what I can do( I believe I do be good at other things;) However, I have to consider it since I am making a living which depend on selling dolls.

 

Sometimes I feel lost. I don't know what kind of future it will bring me into. I used to have ambitions, like 'to be one of the best doll artists in the world', but now it feels so far away. And I am a bit afraid to dream again, because it hurts more when you realize it might not ever be true. I really admire those who can get support form their family, even it is just mentally support...

Oh... how the emails lead to this topic... I know I need to accept the reality and refind my passion and courage. Maybe it takes time to find a right direction to walk out this mist.

Many thanks for your friendship, comments, invites and good wishes. Also thank you to those who have made me their contact. Due to poor health, eye problems and low energy I regret I can't respond in kind but nearly always manage to reply to your comments.

One invite welcome-more, too many.

Please, leave a comment I would be glad to read and reply.

No logos or "awards". I will erase them.

 

We recently visited again the Central Mexicana restaurant in Pozuelo de Alarcón, Madrid, Spain, opened in December 2010, where they serve an excellent repertoire of Mexican dishes and probably the best margaritas on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.

 

ORIGIN: Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, along with Ensenada and Tijuana in the state of Baja California in Mexico, compete with Beverly Hills, California to be the birthplace of the drink.

 

The history that accompanies the drink in Ciudad Juárez does not give greater veracity or weight in the debate, in which it is only clear that it was named in honor of a lady with that name.

 

According to Peña Jr., bartender Lorenzo Hernández created the drink in 1942 at the request of a regular customer who wanted to give his wife a special gift, a drink that had tequila and lemon as ingredients.

 

“When the woman asked Don Lorenzo the name of the drink, he replied 'it's called like you, Margarita'”, and the rest is history... (Source: Wikipedia)

 

PROBABLEMENTE LAS MEJORES MARGARITAS, 2024

 

Recientemente visitamos de nuevo el restaurante Central Mexicana de Pozuelo de Alarcón, Madrid, España, abierto en diciembre 2010, donde sirven un excelente repertorio de platos mexicanos y probablemente las mejores margaritas de este lado del oceano Atlántico.

 

ORIGEN: Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua junto a Ensenada y Tijuana del estado de Baja California en México, se disputan con Beverly Hills, California el ser la cuna de la bebida.

 

La historia que acompaña a la bebida en Ciudad Juárez, no da mayor veracidad y peso en el debate, en el que sólo queda claro que fue nombrada en honor a una dama con ese nombre.

 

De acuerdo a Peña Jr., el barman Lorenzo Hernández en 1942, creó la bebida a petición de un cliente habitual que quiso darle a su esposa un regalo especial, una bebida que tuviera como ingredientes el tequila y el limón.

 

“Cuando la mujer le preguntó a Don Lorenzo el nombre de la bebida, él le contestó ‘se llama como usted, Margarita’”, y el resto es historia... (Fuente: Wikipedia)

Because of the great fire wall of Chinese policy, it's so hard to cross the limit to visit flickr, so I could not reply my dear friends, I'm so sorry about that and please forgive me,thank you so much and hope my friends can still hit on me！由于中国网络原因，访问flickr很困难，速度很慢，所有暂时没有办法一一回应各位好友，请朋友们见谅！还请各位好友继续关注我！

  

My pro account is out of time，thank you my friends here for supporting me what a long time！！May I have a pleasure to receive a pro gift from you？我的pro账号到期了，感谢朋友们长期以来的热心支持！！有好心人能赞助一个pro账号给我吗，在此先表感谢！！

  

If you want to use or buy this image，please contact me. 版权所有，转载请联系本人。

 

Due to long-term poor health I'm unable to take on new contacts but do my best to reply to comments. Thank you so much for your interest, comments and favours on my photostream. Also for your good wishes. I send you joy and peace.

“So um...what are you drinking?” Peter inquired

 

“Oh...champagne...I think? I haven’t ever done this before” Gwen replied

 

“You’re drinking?”

 

“Gotta get rid of the blues somehow…”

 

“The blues?”

 

“You act as if the breakup was easy for me”

 

“I vaguely remember you dumping me.”

 

“Peter I...I didn’t want to break up with you.”

 

“Then why did you do it, Gwen? Why did you leave?”

 

“I did it because I was tired of being hurt. I loved you, Peter. Everything was so good...it was like a fairy tale, but you pushed me away too much.”

 

Peter grabbed her hand and looked her in the eyes. “Then let’s go back to what we had Gwen. It doesn’t have to be over for us. We can work through this...together.”

 

“Peter…” Gwen trailed off as she let go of his hand. “It's not that easy,” Gwen sadly muttered.

 

“Why can’t it be that easy? We still love each other! Why can’t we go back to what we had? Why can’t we be together?”

 

“Because life isn’t easy Peter. I’m leaving the state and you’re going to ESU. We’d have to bend over backward to see each other and I really don’t want to do long distance."

 

“But Gwen...isn’t what we had worth it? Our happiness together...we can go back to that.”

 

“The past is the past Peter...we can start again, but we can never go back to what we had."

 

“Gwen...we can. We can be happy with each other again.”

 

“I just don’t know Peter...I don’t know if I’m ready to try again,” she said as she pulled away her hand. “Things like this need time…time I don’t think we have,” Gwen said as the elevator dinged once again which caught the attention of Norman Osborn.

 

“Ah, this must be Mr. Stark. Please excuse me,” Norman commented to the people he was talking to and began to walk to the door. But when the doors opened it was not the eccentric, billionaire, playboy, Tony Stark. It was another man wearing a tan trench coat with goggles on his face. His hair was brown and cut in a bowl cut but was split displaying his forehead.

 

“Hello Norman,” the figure said confidently as he walked towards Norman Osborn, the guests slowly shuffling out of his way.

 

“Wh-Who are you and why are you at my gathering?” Norman asked the figure with a slight panic to his voice.

 

The figure laughed coldly in response. “Oh Norman, don’t pretend like you don’t know me. We both know we share such a rich history,” the figure said continually walking toward Norman.

 

“What do you want... O-Otto?”

 

“What do I want? Well...I want to see your fraudulent empire collapse to the ground in a heaping pile of hell’s fire. But this can all be avoided,” the figure said as a prosthetic arm slithered out of his coat holding a camera. “I want you to spread every little secret you have to the world in one massive apology.”

 

“Like I would-” Norman started.

 

“Dad!” Harry yelled as he ran up to his dad. “Dad please...just do what he wants. Please do what he wants. Just put your pride away for one second and apologize for whatever you’ve done to this man.”

 

Norman Osborn looks at his soon then back to Otto with a grimace. “The only one that should be sorry is you for leaving Oscorp because you were only relevant when you worked for me!” Norman shouted at Otto

 

Otto laughed in response. “You should’ve listened to your son Otto...now you will be responsible for the tragedies that happen tonight,” Otto said as three more tentacles slowly emerged from his vest. “Now Toomes!” A moment passed before Adrian Toomes crashed through the window and smoke began to fill the room. Most guests screamed in peril and began to attempt to flee the room but they were stopped as Mysterio appeared to be in every door. A mechanical laugh filled the room as Electro hovered in through the window. Across the room Peter witnessed all of this.

 

“Gwen I have to go...you have to go. As soon as you get the chance please get the hell out of here,” Peter said as he began to walk away but Gwen grabbed his hand.

 

“Peter what do you think you’re doing? Where are you going?” Gwen inquired.

 

“I...I can’t tell you that. Please just listen to me and no matter what you see...just keep running,” Peter said as he pulled his hand away.

 

“Peter Parker look at me!” Gwen shouted which caused Peter to turn back in response. “Tell me what’s happening”.

 

Peter walked over to Gwen and hugged her. He then let go and looked her in the eye and kissed her. “I love you, Gwen Stacy…” Peter then ran off from her as he heard her screaming his name. He then leaped into an air vent and crawled until he reached another room. He jumped down from the vent and swiftly took off his vest and dress pants to reveal his Spider suit. He then put the mask on and took a deep breath. “You can do this Pete...you can do this.” He then took a few steps back and leaped out the window.

On Black - Localize - Recent - Interestingness - Blog

 

horizontals by manganite on Flickriver

 

Reply with Darckr

Lily is the newest member to the family. I was actually searching on craigslist for some cheap carriers when I saw a post for a rabbit. Lilly sounded so sweet in the description they had of him that I just couldn't handle thinking of him going to a bad home. I replied right away. We had to drive for about an hour to get to where he was. The owners told me that he was a female named Lily. He was very well taken care of, however they said that they couldn't give him enough attention anymore. Once I brought Lily home I checked him over. That's When I noticed he was a male.

Artist

Edwin Georgi (1896 - 1964)

Circa 1948?

 

Read More about Edwin Georgi at the end of the Algonquin Roundtable recount..

****************************************************************

“We were telling stories, trying to guess if the tale told was fact or fiction. M… came up with this story, chilling in the way it was so wretchedly confessed to us. Most of us thought it was fact, but didn’t really want to believe it.

 

(read fact or fiction? At the end of the background section)

 

BACKGROUND

  

“Algonquin Round Table writers, a group of town wits who had converged on New York in the late 1910s. From their positions as columnists, essayists, and drama critics, this "all-star literary vaudeville," as Edmund Wilson called them, nourished a light, sharp, mocking tone aimed at well-known personalities, among whom they counted themselves. Wartime friends Franklin P. Adams, Harold Ross, Heywood Broun, and Alexander Woollcott were among the bantering quipsters who began meeting for daily lunches at the Algonquin Hotel. With so many clever wordsmiths, this self-named "vicious circle" soon became famous for its ingenious puns, quips, and insults appearing immediately in print in someone's column.”

 

The Algonquin Round Table was a celebrated group of New York City writers, critics, actors and wits. Gathering initially as part of a practical joke, members of "The Vicious Circle", as they dubbed themselves, met for lunch each day at the Algonquin Hotel from 1919 until roughly 1929. At these luncheons they engaged in wisecracks, wordplay and witticisms that, through the newspaper columns of Round Table members, were disseminated across the country.

 

"Their form of social media was just that: social. Imagine having the time every day to break for a couple hours to have lunch with your funny, intelligent friends? They didn’t post witty replies on Facebook. They said them face-to-face, such as the time Dorothy Parker was asked to use the word “horticulture” in a sentence: “You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think.” Was her quick response.

  

Daily association with each other, both at the luncheons and outside of them, inspired members of the Circle to collaborate creatively. The entire group worked together successfully only once, however, to create a revue called No Sirree! which helped launch a Hollywood career for Round Tabler Robert Benchley.

  

In its ten years of association, the Round Table and a number of its members acquired national reputations both for their contributions to literature and for their sparkling wit. Although some of their contemporaries, and later in life even some of its members, disparaged the group, its reputation has endured long after its dissolution.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

An elderly lady known to one of us was from the States, was visited with quite often before she passed on. She was a school chum of Tallulah and related this Roundtable tale told to her.

 

We would be quite interested to learn more of the story and possibly about the incident retold below. If anyone is aware of an occurrence similar to this one in or even outside of Pennsylvania please feel free to tell us about it.

 

Fact or Fiction?

 

As Related to Emily over afternoon Tea one spring day……..

 

“We were playing a game, telling each other stories, and then trying to guess if the story was fact or fiction. Darling Harpo had suggested playing it after the reaction he had received for mischievously calling out a distraught Bea on the facts for a bit of society gossip she had been relating….”

  

“ We gone midway round the circle, and When challenged, M… came up with this story, chilling in the way it was so wretchedly confessed to us. Most of us thought it was fact, but didn’t really want to believe it had occurred. “

  

“I give the story as best I can through memory, only ever hearing it the one time years ago now. I believe I have captured its’ essence, but I could never in words captured the tortured look, or trembling manner that was shown when it was told before the group. All I can say is, either way; it was a masterful performance….”

 

The Confession ( story):

 

M lit a cigarette, and after sending a few wisps of smoke up to dance upon the ceiling, began the tale…

 

“I have done may things in my life I have later regretted, but this one, in particular, I have never told a living soul until now….” Drawing a deep breath, the story was continued.

  

“I have always had a curious streak to observe people’s reactions when in various situations. To get a better grasp of how my characters should act. It greatly piqued me to watch, without being seen, a person’s true emotions coming into play. Ralph Waldo Emerson once famously quoted that “ People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character” ... and that intriguing thought was what originally sent me on my quest..

  

Sometimes I was the protagonist behind the scenes whom, unbeknownst to the victims, had set them up. Sometimes I just followed and watched their behavior. I never intended for anyone to get hurt, emotionally or physically. But sometimes they did! Then I would solace my conscience by telling it that I was only doing it to improve upon my craft. But, then this one time, I probably did go a little bit too far….”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Sends a few more puffs of his cigarette wafting in smoky curls upwards as if in thought on how to actually begin…

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“As a young man I would attend all different sorts of functions from all different levels of society to come up with ideas. I ran the gauntlet, from cock fights, hobo’s gathering around a campfire, to a wedding reception worthy of the Rockefellers. I noticed that I felt more at home with the hobos, than the fat cats. A condition, I am sure, caused by some flaw in my character. “

  

“But this instance, the function I encountered definitely belonged to the latter, Rockefeller fat cat , set.

  

The event, I soon learned, was the Homecoming of a small private College in a wealthy Pennsylvania community. Not my Alma Mater, but just a place I happened to be passing through which I had stopped whilst traveling home. “

  

“That there was a function going on in that little place was not hard to miss; the attendees were pouring out onto the streets from all sorts of establishments, and into others, including the bar I was holed up in. After a while I noticed a change in dress of the revelers costumes. School blazers and sensible dresses began to be replaced by tuxes and swishing satin gowns and colourful frocks. Their adornments also changed, from school ties to bow ties, Boaters (straw hats) to top hats for the men: Gold jewelry was replaced by sparkling necklaces and rings upon gloved hands for the ladies.”

  

“Another change was, that by then, the lot of them was pretty much plastered, but then, so was I!”

  

“ Finally I was flushed out of my hiding spot , and went for a walk outside to escape the noisy crowd.

  

I started to circle the upper portion of a large rural park that ran next to my late hiding spot. As I strolled, I noticed a man with a heavy coat and cap, rather sinisterly watching the crowd, standing against a tree just up ahead of me. When he saw me coming towards him, he turned down a path leading into the shadowy depths of the woods. I watched him go down for a minute, and observed that it led down to a small valley, where in the middle, surrounded by trees, stood a quite deserted football field. The path less traveled tonight, I thought to myself.

  

I kept to the path well-travelled however, and soon after turning a corner, came upon a young couple snogging on a bench. I stopped to watch, my mind racing with a mixture of drink inspired contemplations upon the little scene before me! “

  

“She was dolled up like a picture actress. Wearing a slithery glossy red gown that shined in the gas lamps pooling light, with matching gloves and a shimmering gold purse, she was a breathing Pygmalion . The jewels she was adorned with, rhinestones, I assumed, glittered happily as she moved. He was in a tux, an Errol Flynn moustache and gold watch chain and fob at his waist. They had no idea anyone was near them! Of course, Then, my cursed foot gave me away all too soon, as it stepped upon a twig, snapping it loudly, calling the couples attention to my peeping. Seeing me they got up and walked past me, snooty noses up in the air. She made a rude noise that would have better fitted an old mare in a barn. Well pardon my eyes I though, stinging from the obvious smite upon my character, which I always had held in high regard. Why dress in that manner and think no one deserves to take notice unless they meet with your approval? The princess was obviously not amused…”

  

“ I watched with disdain, and then , still transfixed, followed at a discreet distance as they walked back the way I had come. For some reason I was mesmerized by the pair of snobs, watching as they moved, her red gown swishing and swirling like a red waterfall upon the paved stones. They were holding closely onto one another, once again totally oblivious to their surroundings. There was a story there, if only…. “

  

“They stopped, and I went into the shadow of a tree. Looking back up the path they had come, I thought they may have seen my shadow. For they then looking again to each other, she murmured something and they turned down the very path, the path less travelled, that the heavy coated man had slinked away down. I felt maybe I should have run up and cautioned them against taking that path, but I was still stung by their rude reaction… Besides, I was rather curious to see if anything would happen.

  

In for pence, in for a pound I remember repeating to myself, as I discreetly continued my stalk.”

  

“I went into the shadows, seeing a large set of rocks beside the path I climbed up, getting a view of the path winding down into the small valley. I was just above a gas lamp that lit the path as it reached the valley floor below. The lamps lite effectively shadowed the rock whence I was perched. I could see the pair walking in and out of the shadows of the trees. Just as they reached the circle of light below me they stopped and embraced. I watched, totally unabashed.

  

Then, as I grew bored, or maybe my drink induced fog was started to clear my mind back to reality, I slowly started to make an exit stage right , when a shadow detached itself from a tree directly below me. I stayed mute and froze in my tracks, watching the event I knew was going to occur, began to unfold. The man’s shadowy figure approached the oblivious couple carefully, I could see his head jerking about making sure that the couple was alone, and unprotected. Picking up a chunk of wood he entered the circle of light, which now formed a small stage where a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare was most likely about to unfold!”

  

“I watched as the startled lovers became aware and tried to stare down the newcomer.

  

Now in the light, I could see He had shed his coat and gained a mask, but it was definitely the same sinister man I had seen earlier, obviously up to no good. The Errol Flynn wannabe put the girl behind him in defense, the masked man merely raised branch and whacked him on the side of his head, it broke with a sickening crunch, and her gallant defender went down like a sack of cement.

  

The sinister figure then turned his attention to the now helpless damsel in distress. Raising a cupped hand up he said something in a raspy voice that startled her. Apparently he was asking for her jewels, and the horror struck damsel had arrogantly not yet realized she was being mugged. The ladies long earrings shimmering as she shook her head no in response. The rings on her gloved fingers flashed as her hand went to her throat as she clearly cried out,” not my necklace”, in a hapless act of defiance. In my mind came a picture of a small kitten trying to defy a snarling wolf. She threw the gold purse at him, but he merely caught it, and placed it in his pocket. I remember feeling strangely detached, It may have been shock, but I found myself watching without one ounce of regret. The only thought I could remember was her glittering necklace, maybe they had not been rhinestones, which meant that she actually was wealthy and probably had been looking down her snooty nose upon me, like she probably did her own servants !!.

  

Well than she obviously did not desire my help, I decided, like she had quite rudely not desired my looking at her earlier… and after all , in her world, servants should be standing quietly in the background, seen but not heard. So, I decided that I wasn’t going to help unless absolutely life or death. Let the little lamb be trimmed of her rich wool I said to myself. She did show spunk, I will admit, but that’s all it was, a show. She went limp as he reached up, grabbing her hand away, than began pulling of the rings as she stood mute with disbelief. The diamond bracelet was wrenched unceremoniously from her wrist. Dropping her hand, he pocketed her rings and bracelet. Than he once again went for her necklace, and she backed up, shaking her head, earrings again shimmering as the pair innocently bounced away from her long hair. Then I saw a flash of silver in his hand, and she fainted dead away at the sight of his ugly blade…”.

  

“The masked man knelt over to her fallen body. The shiny red gown had spilled around her on the ground, Laying about her inert svelte figure like a pool of red lava. Reaching down and in he claimed her necklace, grasping it up and away from her throat. He looked at it for a few seconds, letting it sparkle in the moon’s light like slivery falling rain.

  

Then squatting beside her, he pulled away her hair, and yanked her taunting earrings free. He methodically felt along her figure, missing nothing. Then he again produced the knife, slicing off the brooch from her gown’s sash.

  

He pulled off her red high heels and threw tem deep into the woods.

  

Then he left her and went over to the unconscious escort, the bloody limb next to him” in quick, precise fashion, ‘Errol’s’, watch chain and fob were pulled free and pocketed. Then he reached in and pulled out the unlucky devils pocket book. Then pulling off ‘Errol’s’ shoes they soon joined the ladies high heels.

  

Arising calmly, he slowly looked around as he stowed the stolen articles and his knife away. He spent a split second longer on the area I was hidden, causing a shiver to make itself felt! Then, removing the mask he walked to where his long coat lay, and reclaiming it, he continued serenely on his way down the path. I watched in heavy silence as he disappeared in the woods, only to reappear by the football field. It was then that I stole away back up the path, careful not to be seen.”

  

“And no, I did not give any cry of alarm, did not involve myself by seeking or giving the hapless couple aid. I simply turned and left. I came away with nothing, no ideas, no new feelings for a character, just a sour taste in my mouth and an upset stomach, which I soon tried to relieve by stopping in at the next drinking establishment I came across. Beer didn’t help, so I switched to Scotch…!”

  

“ About an hour later I heard a siren and sensed commotion outside the confides of my prison. I did not go out to investigate.”

  

“After a fit less night of unrestful sleep, I left the next morning, daring not to read a paper, or stop there for breakfast ( having a late tea later a few hours away , I put the place and its memories to my back. “

  

“Ashamedly I did not render any assistance those poor souls, and I admit what I what I did was criminal.. But then in my defense , they ………………….., ”

 

“Yes?”

  

“It was at this point that the confession was interrupted by the appearance of a messenger boy sent for M….. Who took his leave, with a wicked smile that seemed to convey relief that an outcome of the story would not have to be faced?

  

Obliviously loving the mystery it created by the timely appearance of the messenger.” He never could be persuaded to return to his story only smiling that wicked little smile.

  

So, the worse of it was we never knew… because of the messenger boy’s interruption, never to learn to our satisfaction if the story was true or not..”

  

“How we all did hate that!”

****************************************************

 

There is some question as to the identity of M…. There are six members with M in their initial. It could have been a non-regular or even a nickname. If anyone else has heard of this tale, or could place a finger for us as to who M… may have been, we would welcome the enlightenment.

 

Charter members of the Round Table included:

Franklin Pierce Adams, columnist

Robert Benchley, humorist and actor

Heywood Broun, columnist and sportswriter (married to Ruth Hale)

Marc Connelly, playwright

Ruth Hale, freelance writer who worked for women's rights

George S. Kaufman, playwright and director

Dorothy Parker

“The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.”

“If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.”

“What fresh hell is this?”

Robert E. Sherwood, author and playwright

John Peter Toohey, publicist

Alexander Woollcott, critic and journalist

"The English have an extraordinary ability for flying into a great calm."

 

Membership was not official or fixed for so many others who moved in and out of the Circle. Some of these included:

Tallulah Bankhead, actress

Edna Ferber, author and playwright

Margalo Gillmore, actress

Jane Grant, journalist and feminist (married to Ross)

Beatrice Kaufman, editor and playwright (married to George S. Kaufman)

Margaret Leech, writer and historian

Neysa McMein, magazine illustrator

Harpo Marx, comedian and film star

Alice Duer Miller, writer

Donald Ogden Stewart, playwright and screenwriter

Frank Sullivan, journalist and humorist

Deems Taylor, composer

Estelle Winwood, actress

Peggy Wood, actress

 

Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives

  

*******************************************************************************

 

Edwin Georgi

(1896 - 1964)

A leader in the second wave of "pretty-girl" artists: more like pin-ups without actually being pin-ups. Largely self-taught, learning his way up in ad and art agencies. A pilot in WWI. Style ranged from simple, posteresque lines and colors to his more famous pointillist pieces with boldly directed light, a unique use of warm shadows, and sparkling colors. Ads for Webster Cigars, Woodbury, Ford Mercury, Crane paper, Yardley, The Italian Line. In-demand illustrator for Goldenbook Magazine, Fortune, Redbook, Woman's Home Companion, Cosmo, True, Esquire, Ladies' Home Journal,Saturday Evening Post, American Girl, Liberty.

 

Edwin Georgi was born in 1896 and died in 1964 at the age of 68. He was a pilot in WWI– though I was unable to gather details about his specific tour of duty. Upon returning from the war, he attended Princeton. Eventually he abandoned his education to pursue writing as a full time profession. He was very ambitious, but a turn of fate pushed him another way. He was hired on to write copy for an ad agency , but was persuaded by his employer that he would make a better painter than a writer. Thus his career in illustration began.

 

Remarkably, he was largely self-taught. He worked his way up the artistic food chain with experience at various ad groups and agencies. His work is known in several national publications; Cosmo, Esquire, Redbook, Ladies’ Home Journal, and The Saturday Evening Post.

 

Edwin’s style is striking. Very few artists exude the dynamic movement of color as he does. His paintings have a texture that is entirely unique– his staccato strokes seem akin to pointillism, and weave a mesh of breathtaking pallets . Most noir art is obsessed with light and shadow, but Edwin Georgi’s art oscillates betwixt hue and contrast.

  

quel profumo di usato, quel profumo di nonna, di famiglia, quelle atmosfere familiari, quell'amore per la moda che nasce da quando tiravo la gonna a madre quando ero piccina, o correvo tra le macchine da cucire di un'importante sartoria..

quel toccare tessuti, sentire gli odori che emanano.

Quel arrabbiarsi con i cartamodelli che ti complicano l'esistenza, quel voler fare tante cose che ti passano per la mente, ma il tuo estro non viene considerato.

La mia storia, che è molto simile a milioni di sarti, che hanno tanto da esprimere ma il mondo in cui viviamo è così banale per tutto questo!

Artigiani che si fanno in mille, per poi ricevere davvero poco!

La mia migliore amica qualche giorno fa aveva messo su Facebook una cosa fondamentale su questo mestiere, ora io ve lo descriverò!

"un giorno una signora, passando davanti ad una vetrina sartoriale, vide un abito bellissimo, se ne innamorò. Entrò dentro al negozio e chiede al sarto quanto costasse quel vestito. Lui le disse il prezzo, a quel punto lei stizzita gli rispose "è troppo caro" ed il sarto le chiese "scusi signora quanto pensa che debba costare un abito del genere?" e lei controbattè dicendo "bè il costo dei materiali", il sarto a quel punto le disse "ok signora le farò avere il vestito da lei richiesto".

Qualche giorno dopo si vide arrivare a casa il pacco da parte del sarto, lei prima di aprirlo si era decantata davanti a tutte le sue amiche dicendo di aver fatto un affare! Aprì il pacco e vide che all'interno c'erano un ago, filo e del tessuto.

Lei stizzita andò da lui furiosa dicendogli che l'aveva presa in giro e lui le rispose "No signora, lei mi ha chiesto di farle un abito in base a i costi dei materiali, e questo è quello che io posso farle!"

La morale della storia è che purtroppo chi non è nel mondo dell'artigianato non sa cosa significa fare l'artigiano.

L'artigiano si spacca la schiena, studia e progetta ogni singolo soggetto che deve realizzare, passa ore ed ore sveglio durante la notte pur di concludere un lavoro nei tempi stimati, è un lavoro che richiede precisione, pazienza, costanza e determinazione.

Ricordiamoci che non siamo macchine, siamo esseri umani.

Non svalutate il lavoro degli altri se non siete in grado di saperli realizzare :)

 

Con affetto Lux

  

_____________________________________________

  

the fragrance used, the scent of grandmother, family, the family atmosphere, the love for fashion that started when I pulled the skirt mother when I was a child, and ran among the sewing machines of major tailoring ..

the touch fabrics, feel the smells emanating.

That angry with the patterns that will complicate the existence, that want to do so many things running through your mind, but your talent is not considered.

My story, which is very similar to millions of tailors, who have much to give, but the world we live in is so trivial to all this!

Craftsmen who make a thousand, and then receive very little!

My best friend a few days ago had put on Facebook a key thing about this job, I will now describe it!

"One day a lady, passing in front of a showcase tailoring, saw a beautiful dress, fell in love. She went into the store and asks to tailor what it cost that dress. He said the price, at which point she angrily replied," is too expensive "and the tailor asked" Excuse lady as he feels that it should cost a dress like that? "and she countered by saying" Well the cost of materials ", the tailor at that point he said" ok I'll have Ms. Dress she asked. "

A few days later he saw the pack to get home from the tailor, she had praised before opening it in front of all her friends saying that he had made a deal! He opened the package and saw that inside there were a needle, thread and fabric.

She angrily came to him angry by telling him that he had taken for a ride and he said "No ma'am, she asked me to make her a dress based on the costs of materials, and this is what I can make them!"

The moral of the story is that unfortunately people who are not in the world of craft does not know what it means to the artisan.

The craftsman breaks your back, studies and plans that each person must realize, spends hours and hours awake at night just to finish a job on time estimates, it is a job that requires precision, patience, perseverance and determination.

Let us remember that we are not machines, we are human beings.

Not devalued the work of others if you are not in a position to be able to realize :)

 

Affectionately Lux

 

(sorry for my english)

Eugene Landry (Shoalwater Bay Indian Tribe 1932-1988.)

Oil on canvas

 

Eugene Landry: An Artist, a Time and a Tribe

May 28-29, 2022

www.eugenelandry.com

 

Shoalwater Bay Heritage Museum of the Shoalwater Bay Tribe, Tokeland, Washington.

www.shoalwaterbay-nsn.gov/

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Portrait of an Artist

 

Eugene ''Gene'' Landry (1937-1988) was a noted Northwest Native artist, who painted from the confines of a wheelchair. His personal story is one of perseverance, of an artist who created despite setbacks, always with humor and style.

 

Landry's art offers a glimpse into a transitional and little-documented time in Northwest Native history. His paintings are important because they represent a Native artist's portrayal of his own people during a time when Native Americans were erased, marginalized, and misrepresented by stereotypes in media and public education.

 

Landry painted contemporary portraits of his people, depicting them as they were. As one of his models said, ''We're so small and isolated here. People think we're so different. At one time, we had a bunch of kids from Raymond come down, and they wanted to know where our feathers were."

 

Gene was born in the village of Taholah on the Quinault Indian

Reservation. His biological mother was Hoh and his father was Quileute and Swedish. As an infant, he was adopted by Myrtle (Charley) and Fred Landry and raised at Georgetown, Myrtle's reservation.

 

Identity

 

As the only child of Myrtle and Fred Landry, Gene was well provided for and deeply loved. His biological-mother, Isabelle Hudson, a full-blooded Hoh, is remembered as having dark reddish-brown hair. His father, Austin Rosander, was half Quiliuette and half Swedish. Although Gene was adopted as a baby, he maintained ties with his biological family, who lived in Grays Harbor and the surrounding area.

 

Gene's appearance did not conform to expectations of what an Indian was "supposed to look like." His bright red hair (sometimes referred to as "Hoh River blond") made him stand out. In high school, he styled his hair like James Dean and drove a red 1937 hot rod Ford coupe. He was a gifted athlete, known for his running and boxing prowess, but he wasn't

allowed to run track because he refused to cut his hair.

 

Gene's art training was not traditional to his culture. He reached advanced levels in art at Aberdeen and Ocosta High Schools, but there were no practitioners of Native arts around to mentor him. He explored and developed his talent using the means available, based on Western European art traditions. He would go on to create art with a native sensibility, using the tools available.

 

Art Student

 

Gene trained himself to use his non-dominant left hand to paint. In 1961, he enrolled at the Leon F. Derbyshire School of Fine Arts in Seattle. There was no wheelchair access, so Gene had to be carried up the stairs to the second floor classroom.

 

In 1962 Gene studied with noted Northwest sculptor Philip Levine at his Phoenix Gallery in Seattle. By 1964, Gene was showing his work and winning acclaim in the Pacific Northwest. Over the next four years, he exhibited at the Frye Museum, the West Coast Annual at the Seattle Civic Center, The Edmonds and Anacortes Art Festivals, and the La Grande All Indian Arts Festivals.

 

Gene met Sharon Billingsley, a model and painter who attended classes at Derbyshire, and they struck up a friendship that led to romance. The couple could often be found sketching street scenes side by side, Gene in his wheelchair, Sharon next to him on a folding stool.

 

Gene and Sharon married in California on May 28, 1965. They went to Paris to study art, then returned to the Northwest, living in Seattle, Tacoma, and Georgetown until their marriage ended in 1972.

 

Back to Georgetown, Washington

 

In the late l960s, Landry moved back to the Shoalwater Bay Reservation. He set up a studio inside a small cabin that had been moved to the reservation from North Cove's at Washaway Beach. A wheel chair ramp and wrap-around deck made it accessible for plein air painting. Situated on the shore of Shoalwater Bay, Gene painted still-lives utilizing objects that washed in on the tides: glass fishing floats, discolored rope, old bones, shells and feathers.

 

He also painted still lifes and portraits in oil, using his family and friends as models. These works span a pivotal time in the tribe's history, from near termination to federal recognition.

 

Fifty years have passed since Gene painted Winona Weber's portrait. When asked why Landry's art matters today, she replied:

 

“I am a historian at heart. Gene's art is part of our history. Also, a talent like his really deserves to be acknowledged. When I was working with the women's history project, I said I was happy to be breaking some stereotypes of native women. A woman said it should just be commonplace. But first you have to be visible to be usual. I would like to see Gene visible."

 

Later Years

 

Gene traveled throughout the Southwest, spending time in New Mexico and Arizona. He traveled to Mexico and the Philippines seeking native healers to help with his deteriorating health. He eventually lost function in his left arm but continued to make art, holding the brush in his teeth to reach higher places on the canvas.

 

In 1980 Gene moved to Santa Barbara. His house, perched on a bluff overlooking the sea, was filled with art, his own and others. He opened a gallery downtown and championed the work of local artists. In the mid 80s his business partner-who was also his care giver unexpectedly died. His own health declining, Gene returned to his parent's home on the reservation.

 

Gene Landry died April 7, 1988 at age 51. He is buried next to Myrtle Landry and his relations in the Indian section at Sunset Memorial in Hoquiam, Washington. The Shoalwater Bay Tribe’s Na ‘m ‘sc ‘ac Heritage Museum is located on the former site of the cabin and dome.

  

Illness, November 1955

 

The illness came without warning. When 17-year-old Gene suddenly lost consciousness, his parents wrapped him in blankets and drove two hours to Cushman Indian Hospital in Tacoma. There were closer facilities for emergency care, but they did not provide Indian Health services. Gene remained a patient at Cushman for two and a half years, undergoing treatment for tubercular meningitis. The disease paralyzed his legs, and he endured grueling physical therapy, but he continued to work on paintings from a hospital bed.

 

Gene's parents moved to Tacoma to be closer to the hospital. When Myrtle Landry raised concerns about his condition and the poor care, Gene was abruptly discharged. Myrtle Landry (Washington Women's Heritage Project 1980):

 

"One doctor said, 'Why don't you just go and leave him and forget about him?' I said, 'Just who do you think you're talking to anyway?' I said, 'I got feelings, even though I'm a full blood Indian, I got feelings.' He said, 'Well, he'll never amount to anything.' I said, 'Well, I'm sure as heck not gonna let him die here.' And boy I raised Cain with 'em. So they told us one day, 'You get out.'

 

And then the State decided they could do more for him than I could." The decision proved tragic. At a rehabilitation facility on Bainbridge Island, Gene fell while being moved by attendants and suffered a spinal injury. He lost the use of his right arm and the possibility of ever walking again. He was 21 years old.

   

Strictly speaking not a daffodil but this is for John who has lost all the daffodils in his garden.

See John's photostream. www.flickr.com/photos/john47kent/

  

Many thanks for your friendship, comments, invites and good wishes. Also thank you to those who have made me their contact. Due to poor health, eye problems and low energy I regret I can't take on any new contacts but nearly always manage to reply to your comments.

One invite welcome-more, too many.

Dear Sir and Madams,

 

Good day!

 

This is Janice from Fancy glow. Our are the manufactures of the Led flashing party items .

 

I would like to recommend our hot sale items for your ref .

 

please let me know if you interesting which items . thanks a lot!

 

look forward to your ealry reply!

 

Best Regards,

 

Janice Cai

 

Fancy Toys Co.,Ltd.

P:+86 754-85871070

F:+86 754-85862756

Skype:fancyglow

Email:sales1@fancyglow.com

www.fancyglow.com

www.flickr.com/groups/portraitparty/discuss/7215762550844...

It's been days since the incident at the King estate, and yet, that seems to be all the news can focus on. The Emerald Archer of Star City! Who is he, and where did he come from?! Their words, not mine. Victoria Munch, reporter for Star City News, seems hellbent on figuring out the truth of it all. So now I have to worry about her investigating me, in addition to my half-sister trying to kill me. Yeah, can't say that's something I was expecting either. To just suddenly have a half-sister that I didn't know about, that wants to kill me. Sounds like something straight out of a soap opera.. Just another day in the life of Oliver Queen, I suppose.

 

In other news, who is Oliver Queen's new mystery woman? I hear in the background on the tv, as I'm making myself chili. I glance up, as they segway into several papparazi shots taken of me talking to Dinah at Sherwood Florist. Anything to fill the gossip channels.. I mean me and her? Hah, good luck with that. Sure, she's quite the bombshell, but I don't know if I can see us really clicking all that well. Besides, she doesn't seem to be a big fan of me either. Felt like it took everything in her to hold in her resentment. I could be wrong though, since opposites do attract. At least, that's what mom keeps telling me.

 

I've tried to figure out who hired Thea to kill me, but with very little in the way of leads, I've gotten nowhere. She wouldn't budge... Who hates the Green Arrow that much? My first thought was Anthony Venza, but he's still in prison. As for Clock King, he's w---dead.

 

The phone starts ringing, snapping me out of my train of thought. Upon reaching the phone, the caller ID reads Tommy. So I bring the phone to my ear, and answer.

 

-----------------------

Verdant, moments earlier.

 

Father's gone once again. He did what he does best, and ran away. After everything that happened the other night, I'm not surprised. The archer, SCPD, and some assassin. It was all too much for him. Guess it doesn't really matter that much anyways, as he's not even present when he's here in Star City. Still wish he could see the value in what I'm doing here with Verdant, and telling me that he's proud of me for once. But of course, he's not there... Really could use someone to talk to right now.

 

Of course, everyone's left for the night, as I'm just finishing up some paperwork for our vendors. I wonder what Oliver's up to right now. After all, it's been a while since we've had a movie night. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I dial Oliver's number, bringing the phone to my ear.

 

"Hey Tommy, what's up?" He answers seconds later, his voice carefree as usual.

 

"Besides trying to run a business, which means a whole lot of paperwork? Not much man! So I was thinking, since I'm surprisingly almost done here, we could have one of our classic movie nights. It's been a while, and there's still so many movies you have to catch up on. Since you know, you've missed three glorious years."

 

"Yeah, you don't have to remind me.." He replies.

 

"So what do you say? I'll swing by Blockbuster and pick something up? Maybe start with Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring? Or maybe A Beautiful Mind?" I ask, and there's a bit of a pause before Oliver responds

 

"I'd love to Tommy, but unfortunately I've already got plans for the night. Raincheck though?"

 

"Yea uh sure. Some other time then. Sounds good. C ya later." I say with a sigh, the excitement in my voice quickly fading, as I hang up, and place the phone down on my desk. Yet again Oliver bails. Third time this week. Normally I'd think it was just some girl. But this is different. His tone was different. Looks like it's just me, Merlin, and a bottle of Chateauneuf-Du-Pape tonight.

 

Moments later, I hear the opening of the door to Verdant. Could've sworn I locked it. I put my pen down, and make my way out of the office, towards the front entrance.

 

"You know, you should be more careful. Leaving the door unlocked.. That's not very safe, especially in the Glades. You never know who could walk in." A voice taunts.

 

"Who are you, and what do you want?" I ask, trying not to fall for the bait. It's then that a figure emerges from the corner. She's wearing a dark red outfit, and sporting orange goggles, with gauntlets on each arm.

 

"Don't you watch the news? Who I am should be pretty obvious.."

 

"You.. You were there the other night. The assassin."

 

"Don't treat me like some common crook. The names Red Dart!" She scoffs, raising her gauntlets, aiming them at me. Her voice sounds familiar. It takes a few more seconds before I realize who it is.

 

"Thea.. Why are you here?"

 

"It's Red Dart! Thea's been dead for a long time now" She yells, glaring at me, ready to shoot. I'm actually going to die now.

 

I could say, That's not what this application says! But if I say that, I'm dead for sure. No ifs ands or buts about it.

 

"Okay, okay. Red Dart, what do you want from me? If you want the job, you can have it! I promise I won't tell anyone about this! Just don't kill me." I reply, stuttering throughout my sentence, clearly scared for my own life.

 

"Kill you? Oh no, Thomas King, I have much bigger plans for you. Starting with telling you the truth about Oliver Queen."

++ 021.M31 ++

++ 315th Resupply/Explorator Fleet ++

++ Extreme Southwestern Ultima Segmentum ++

++ Rembrancer ID: 381207493 ++

 

Log 341:

I don't know how long we've traveled through space to end up here. Our fleet was supposed to reach our destination 3 standard months ago, yet here we are, still drifting. Our warp jumps have been short, as that vile Arch Traitor set the galaxy ablaze and the warp has been extremely unpredictable.

 

Log 342:

Finally we have arrived at an inhabited system! But, the Archmagos of the expedition has informed me that we may be preparing for combat. He hasn't explained the situation, so I have no idea what we are up against.

This can not be good. As we were cautiously approaching the system, we were met with an Astartes strike cruiser as an escort. I recognize the markings and it makes me vomit. The silver skull of the Iron Warriors stares back at me through the view screen. I do not understand why they haven't destroyed our fleet yet. So far their behavior does not match what I remember from my ill fated remembrancer colleagues attached to the IVth Legion. The Magos has requested my presence in the main hangar.

 

Log 343:

As we waited in the hangar for the Astartes to come aboard, my anxiety was turning my stomach over and over. I began to imagine the marines storming aboard and butchering the crew. I just saw horrible visions of slaughter at the hand of these transhuman traitors. Finally a column of Astartes entered our hangar from the boarding apparatus. Following closely behind them was a marine of larger stature who I assumed was their commander. His armor was largely unadorned in stark contrast to Astartes officers of other legions who have ornate armor. The only thing that differentiated him from the rank and file was an extra limb attached to his power pack. He towered over even my heavily augmented Senior Magos. He stood, staring at us for several minutes before removing his helmet and demanding an explanation for our fleet's presence in the system. As the Magos was detailing our mission the Astartes cut him off, ordering him to get to the point. As the two went back and forth, "Will you traitors let us go or kill us already!" came bursting out of my mouth. Before I could process what I had just said the Astartes snapped towards me and shouted "QUIET MORTAL, HOW DARE YOU LABEL US TRAITORS!" At that moment I realized that these were no ordinary Iron Warriors. I apologized for my interruption as the marine's burning gaze cut through my soul. The Magos took the attention away from me when he asked to have a formal negotiation for supplies. The Astartes pondered the request for several minutes, before accepting the offer. We were led to a briefing room aboard the Iron Warriors vessel. As we weaved through corridor after corridor, I noticed how "normal" the ship appeared. There were no signs of corruption or disorder, it all appeared as if we were walking through a loyalist vessel. As we took our seats at a long grey table, the tall Astartes introduced himself as Warsmith Lythran of the IVth Legion. I found it odd that he said IVth Legion and not Iron Warriors. He said we were in luck, for they were in need of a resupply of arms and ammunition. They were in the position to trade. As the Magos and the Warsmith negotiated, I began noticing how clean the marines' armor was. It was well worn, but un-corrupted. These marines certainly did not look like traitors. My journeys with other Legions helped me recognize the older patterns of armor they wore. As they finished the negotiations, I asked curiously "Why are you Astartes so accommodating to us Imperials, are you not Iron Warriors?" At this the Warsmith turned to me and answered, "We may wear the badge of the Iron Warriors but we feel not kinship with them." "Did you remain loyal to the Emperor during the Heresy?" I replied. He began to glare at me with the same burning gaze as before. "What heresy do you speak of mortal? Do you accuse us of being heretics?" the Warsmith said with barely contained disgust. At this point I realized why these Iron Warriors were so different from the terrifying beasts that destroyed countless worlds just years before. They must have been isolated in this far flung system, unaware of the great suffering Horus and his traitorous brothers unleashed. The Magos gave me a concerned look before deciding to tell the Warsmith what had happened to the galaxy. As the details of the Heresy began to sink in, he interrupted the Magos and said, "So my.." his mouth curled with contempt as he continued, "...My father let his ego grow even further. This revelation makes me despise the Primarch more." This comment caught me off guard, I knew that the Legions fought against each other, but I did not know they fought among themselves. Lythran told us that he and his assault detachment had been estranged from the rest of the Legion for over a century. His company was cast out after he refused to send more men to the meat grinder. He was relieved of half of his Grand Company and deployed to this Emperor forsaken corner of space. Lythran was not an Olympian however, he and his top cadre were Terrans. They still considered themselves as part of the IVth Legion, before Perturabo took control. When he finished telling us his history, my mind was still pouring over the information I had just learned. We returned to our ships hangar with an Astartes escort to ensure we did not snoop around. Even though they were not traitors, I was not sure if they were allies. I dared not stray from our path as the flamers the marines carried would have instantly incinerated me. With the tense experience over and the IVth Legion strike cruiser disembarking, I let out all of my emotions with some sort of self induced sickness. Our fleet returned to it's scheduled route with fresh supplies and even more depleted nerves. Emperor guide us to our destination, I can not take much more of this.

 

++ End of Log ++

 

This is my first real lore description, hopefully this turned out ok and not full of errors.

Title.

Replying.

  

( FUJIFILM GFX50R shot )

  

Tokyo Big Sight. Koto-ku. Tokyo. Japan. 2024. … 7 / 11

(Today's photo. It's unreleased.)

  

Images

Toshiki Kadomatsu (角松敏生) ... NOA

youtu.be/gJ_e5GzKCgc?si=QE6pnr_odJ1XD28s

  

::Photo Music and iTunes Playlist Link::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/photo-music/pl.u-Eg8qefpy8Xz

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

消えた境界線から生まれたもの　～ 去ってゆく川村記念美術館を振り返って ～

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54020588671/in/dateposted...

 

What Emerged from the Vanishing Boundaries~ Reflecting on the Departing Kawamura Memorial Museum ~

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54020588671/in/dateposted...

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Important Notices.

 

I have relaxed the following conditions.

I will distribute my T-shirt to the world for free.

m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50656401427/in/dateposted-p...

m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50613367691/in/dateposted-p...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

​

 

Exhibition in 2025

  

Theme

The Nightfly

  

Images

Donald Fagen … I.G.Y.

youtu.be/Ueivjr3f8xg?si=xmqGPQjyIKoTs4Q5

 

Live.

youtu.be/Di0_KYtmVKI?si=CLFpU2n0gXahqLPB

  

Mitsushiro - Nakagawa

  

Organizer

Design Festa

designfesta.com

  

Location

Tokyo Big Sight

www.bigsight.jp

  

Date

Autumn 2025.

  

exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Notice regarding "Lot No.402_”.

  

From now on I will host "Lot No.402_".

 

The work of Leonardo da Vinci who was sleeping.

That is the number when it was put up for auction.

No sign was written on the work.

So this work couldn't conclude that it was his work.

However # as a result of various appraisals # it was exposed to the sun.

A work that no one notices. A work that speaks quietly without a title.

I will continue to strive to provide it to many people in various ways.

 

October 24 2020 by Mitsushiro - Nakagawa.

  

Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2024 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Profile.

In November 2014 # we caught the attention of the party selected to undertake the publicity for a mobile phone that changed the face of the world with just a single model # and will conclude a confidentiality agreement with them.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Interviews and novels.

About my book.

 

I published a book a long time ago.

At that time # I uploaded my interview as a PDF on the internet.

Its Japanese and English.

 

I will publish it for free.

For details # I explained to the Amazon site.

 

How to write a novel.

How to take a picture.

A sense of distance to the work.

 

All of these have something in common.

I wrote down what I felt and left it.

 

I hope my text will be read by many people.

Thank you.

 

Mitsushiro.

 

1 Interview in English

 

2 novels. unforgettable 'English version.(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

 

3 Interview Japanese version

 

4 novels. unforgettable ' JPN version.

 

5 A streamlined trajectory. only Japanese.

 

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

iBooks. Electronic Publishing. It is free now.

 

0.about the iBooks.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

1.unforgettable '(ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...

 

2.unforgettable '(JNP.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...

 

3. Streamlined trajectory.(For Japanese only.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8... =11

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My Novel : Unforgettable'

 

(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

  

Synopsis

Kei Kitami, who is aiming for university, meets Kaori Uemura, an event companion who is 6 years older than her, on SNS.

Kaori's dream of coming to Tokyo is to become friends with a famous artist.

For that purpose, the radio station's producer, Ryo Osawa, was needed.

Osawa speaks to Kaori during a live radio broadcast.

"I have a wife and children. But I want to meet you."

Rika Sanjo, who is Kei's classmate and has feelings for him, has been looking into her girlfriend Kaori's movements. . . . .

   

Mitsushiro Nakagawa

All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .

www.fotolog.net/yuming/

  

images.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related

  

Main story

 

There are two reasons why a person faces the sea.

One to enjoy a slice of shine in the sea like children bubbling over in the beach.

The other to brush the dust of memory like an old man who misses old days staring at the shine

quietly.

Those lead to only one meaning though they do not seem to overlap. It’s a rebirth.

I face myself to change tomorrow a vague day into something certain.

That is the meaning of a rebirth.

I had a very sweet girlfriend when I was 18.

After she left I knew the meaning of gentleness for the first time and also a true pain of loss. After

she left # how many times did I depend too much on her # doubt her # envy her and keep on telling lies

until I realized it is love?

I wonder whether a nobody like me could have given something to her who was struggling in the

daily life in those days. Giving something is arrogant conceit. It is nothing but self-satisfaction.

I had been thinking about such a thing.

However I guess what she saw in me was because I had nothing. That‘s why she tried to see

something in me. Perhaps she found a slight possibility in me # a guy filled with ambiguous unstable

tomorrow. But I wasted days depending too much on her gentleness.

Now I finally can convey how I felt in those days when we met.

  

1/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...

2/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...

3/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...

4/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...

5/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...

6/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...

7/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...

8/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...

9/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...

  

Fin.

  

images.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Title of my book : unforgettable'

Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa

Out Now.

ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

in Amazon.

Unforgettable’ amzn.asia/d/eG1wNc5

_________________________________

_________________________________

The schedule of the next novel.

Still would stand all time. (Unforgettable '2)

(It will not go away forever)

Please give me some more time. That is Japanese.

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My Works.

 

1 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48072442376/in/dateposted...

2 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48078949821/in/dateposted...

3 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48085863356/in/dateposted...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Do you want to hear my voice?

:)

 

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

 

1

About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. First type.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

 

2

About the composition of the picture posted to Flicker. Second type.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=443

 

3

About when I started Fotolog. Architect 's point of view.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=649

 

4

Why did not you have a camera so far?

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=708

 

5

What is the coolest thing? The photo is as it is.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=776

 

6

About the current YouTube bar. I also want to tell # I want to leave.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=964

 

7

About Japanese photographers. Japanese YouTube bar is Pistols.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1059

 

8

The composition of the photograph is sensibility. Meet the designers in Milan. Two questions.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1242

 

9

What is a good composition? What is a bad composition?

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1482

 

10

What is the time to point the camera? It is slow if you are looking into the viewfinder or display.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1662

 

11

Family photos. I can not take pictures with others. The inside of the subject.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1745

 

12

About YouTube 's photographer. Camera technology etc. Sensibility is polished by reading books.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2144

 

13

About the Japanese newspaper. A picture of a good newspaper is Reuters. If you continue to look at useless photographs # it will be useless.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2305

 

14

About Japanese photographers. About the exhibition.

Summary. I wrote a novel etc. What I want to tell the most.

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2579

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

I talked about how to make a work.

 

About work production 1/2

youtu.be/ZFjqUJn74kM

  

About work production 2/2

youtu.be/pZIbXmnXuCw

 

1 Photo exhibition up to that point. Did you want to go?

 

2 Well # what is an exhibition that you want to visit even if you go there?

 

3 Challenge to exhibit one work every month before opening a solo exhibition at the Harajuku Design Festa.

 

4 works are materials and silhouettes. Similar to fashion.

 

5 Who is your favorite artist? What is it? Make it clear.

 

6 Creating a collage is exactly the same as taking photos. As I wrote in the interview # it is the same as writing a novel.

 

7 I want to show it to someone # but I do not make a piece to show it. Aim for the work you want to decorate your own room as in the photo.

 

8 What is copycat? Nowadays # it is suspected to be beaten. There is something called Mimesis?

 

ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mimesis

kotobank.jp/word/Mimesis-139464

 

9 What is Individuality? What is originality?

 

www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Explanation of composition. 2

 

1.Composition explanation 2 ... 1/4

youtu.be/yVbvneBIMs8

 

2.Composition explanation 2 ... 2/4

youtu.be/LToFez9vOAw

 

3.Composition Explanation 2 ... 3/4

youtu.be/uTR0wVi9Z7M

 

4.Composition Explanation 2 ... 4/4

youtu.be/h2LjfU6Vvno

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My shutter feeling.

 

youtu.be/3JkbGiFLjAM

 

Today's photo.

It is a photo taken from Eurostar.

 

This video is an explanation.

 

I went to Milan in 2005.

At that time # I went from Milan to Venice.

We took Eurostar into the transportation.

 

This photo was not taken from a very fast Eurostar.

When I changed the track # I took a picture at the moment I slowed down.

  

Is there a Japanese beside you?

Please have my video translated.

:)

 

In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

flickr.

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

instagram.

www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Pinterest.

www.pinterest.jp/MitsushiroNakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

YouPic

youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

twitter.

twitter.com/mitsushiro

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

facebook.

www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

threads.

www.threads.net/@mitsushiro_nakagawa

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Blue sky.

bsky.app/profile/mitsushironakagawa.bsky.social

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Amazon.

www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

My statistics (as of August 1, 2024)

How many views have I had on Flickr and Youpic?

Flickr 23,192,383 Views

Youpic 7,574,603 Views

 

My statistics. (As of February 7, 2024)

What is the number of accesses to Flickr and YouPic?

Flickr 21,694,434 Views

Youpic 7,003,230 Views

 

What is the number of accesses to Flickr and YouPic?

(As of November 13, 2023)

Flickr 20,852,872 View

Youpic 6,671,486 View

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Japanese is the following.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

 

Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 204 _ . Copyright©︎2024 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

Title.

返信中。

  

( FUJIFILM GFX50R shot )

  

東京ビッグサイト。江東区。東京。日本。2024。 … 7 / 11

(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）

  

Images

Toshiki Kadomatsu (角松敏生) ... NOA

youtu.be/gJ_e5GzKCgc?si=QE6pnr_odJ1XD28s

  

::写真の音楽とiTunesプレイリストをリンク::

music.apple.com/jp/playlist/photo-music/pl.u-Eg8qefpy8Xz

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

重要なお知らせ。

 

僕は以下の条件を緩和します。

僕はTシャツを無料で世界中へ配布します。

m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50656401427/in/dateposted-p...

m.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/50613367691/in/dateposted-p...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

２０２5年の展示

  

テーマ

The Nightfly

 

Images

Donald Fagen … I.G.Y.

youtu.be/Ueivjr3f8xg?si=xmqGPQjyIKoTs4Q5

 

Live.

youtu.be/Di0_KYtmVKI?si=CLFpU2n0gXahqLPB

  

Mitsushiro - Nakagawa

 

主催

デザインフェスタ

designfesta.com

 

場所

東京ビッグサイト

www.bigsight.jp

  

日程

2025年 秋。

 

exhibition.mitsushiro.nakagawa@gmail.com

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

   

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

” Lot No.402_ ” に関するお知らせ。

  

今後、僕は、” Lot No.402_ ”を主催します。

 

このロットナンバーは、眠っていたレオナルドダヴィンチの作品がオークションにかけらた際に付されたものです。

作品にはサインなどがいっさい記されていなかったため、彼の作品だと断定できませんでした。

しかし、様々な鑑定の結果、陽の光を浴びました。

誰にも気づかれない作品。肩書がなくとも静かに語りかける作品。

僕はこれから様々な形で、多くの皆様に提供できるよう努めてゆきます。

 

2020年10月24日 by Mitsushiro - Nakagawa.

 

Copyright©︎2021 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

プロフィール

2014年11月、たった1機種で世界を塗り替えた携帯電話の広告を請け負った選考者の目に留まり、秘密保持同意書を結ぶ。

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

インタビューと小説。

僕の本について。

 

僕は、昔に本を出版しました。

その際に、僕のインタビューをPDFでネット上へアップロードしていました。

その日本語と英語。

 

僕は、無料でを公開します。

詳細は、アマゾンのサイトへ解説しました。

 

小説の書き方。

写真の撮影方法。

作品への距離感。

 

これらはすべて共通項があります。

僕は、僕が感じたことを文章にして、残しました。

 

僕のテキストが多くの人に読んでもらえることを望みます。

ありがとう。

 

Mitsushiro.

 

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

  

１　インタビュー　英語版

 

２　小説。unforgettable’ 英語版。

 

３　インタビュー　日本語版

 

４　小説。unforgettable’ 日本語版。(この小説は未来のアーティストへ捧げます)

(四百字詰め原稿用紙４５６枚)

 

　あらすじ

　大学を目指している北見ケイは、SNS上で、6歳年上のイベントコンパニオン、上村香織に出会う。

　上京してきた香織の夢は、有名なアーティストの友達になるためだ。

　そのためにはラジオ局のプロデューサー、大沢亮の存在が必要だった。

　大沢は、ラジオの生放送中、香織へ語りかける。

　「僕には妻子がある。しかし、僕は君に会いたいと思っている」

　ケイの同級生で、彼を想っている三條里香は、香織の動向を探っていた。。。。。

  

本編

 

人が海へ向かう理由には、二つある。

　ひとつは、波打ち際ではしゃぐ子供のように、今の瞬間の海の輝きを楽しむこと。

　もうひとつは、その輝きを静かに見据えて、過ぎ去った日々を懐かしむ老人のように記憶の埃を払うこと。

　二つは重なり合わないようではあるけれども、たったひとつの意味しか生まない。

　再生だ。

　明日っていう、曖昧な日を確実なものへと変えてゆくために、自分の存在に向き合う。

　それが再生の意味だ。

 

　十八歳だった僕には大切な人がいた。

 

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

  

５　流線形の軌跡。　日本語のみ。

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

iBooks.電子出版。（現在は無料）

 

0.about the iBooks.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

1.unforgettable’ ( ENG.ver.)(This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216576828?ls=1&...

For Japanese only.

 

2.unforgettable’ ( JNP.ver.)(この小説は未来のアーティストへ捧げます)

itunes.apple.com/us/book/unforgettable/id1216584262?ls=1&...

 

3.流線形の軌跡。

itunes.apple.com/us/book/%E6%B5%81%E7%B7%9A%E5%BD%A2%E3%8...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕の小説。英語版　

My Novel Unforgettable' (This book is Dedicated to the future artist.)

 

Mitsushiro Nakagawa

All Translated by Yumi Ikeda .

www.fotolog.net/yuming/

   

1/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24577016535/in/dateposted...

2/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24209330259/in/dateposted...

3/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/23975215274/in/dateposted...

4/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24515964952/in/dateposted...

5/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24276473749/in/dateposted...

6/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24548895082/in/dateposted...

7/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24594603711/in/dateposted...

8/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24588215562/in/dateposted...

9/9

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/24100804163/in/dateposted...

Fin.

  

images.

U2 - No Line On The Horizon Live in Dublin

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oKwnkYFsiE&feature=related

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Title of my book : unforgettable'

Author : Mitsushiro Nakagawa

Out Now.

 

ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

in Amazon.

Unforgettable’ amzn.asia/d/eG1wNc5

_________________________________

_________________________________

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕の作品。

 

1 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48072442376/in/dateposted...

2 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48078949821/in/dateposted...

3 www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/48085863356/in/dateposted...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

あなたは僕の声を聞きたいですか？

:)

 

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

  

1

フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。１種類目。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw

 

2

フリッカーへ投稿した写真の構図について。２種類目。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=443

 

3

Fotologを始めた時について。 建築家の視点。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=649

 

4

なぜ、今までカメラを手にしなかったのか？

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=708

 

5

何が一番かっこいいのか？　写真はありのままに。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=776

 

6

現在のユーチューバーについて。僕も伝え、残したい。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=964

 

7

日本人の写真家について。日本のユーチューバーはピストルズ。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1059

 

8

写真の構図は、感性。ミラノのデザイナーに会って。二つの質問。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1242

 

9

良い構図とは？　悪い構図とは？

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1482

 

10

カメラを向ける時とは？　ファインダーやディスプレイを覗いていては遅い。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1662

 

11

家族写真。他人では撮れない。被写体の内面。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=1745

 

12

ユーチューブの写真家について。カメラの技術等。感性は、本を読むことで磨く。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2144

 

13

日本の新聞について。良い新聞の写真はロイター。ダメな写真を見続けるとダメになる。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2305

 

14

日本の写真家について。その展示について。

まとめ。僕が書いた小説など。僕が最も伝えたいこと。

youtu.be/b1o6Xf-Mjhw?t=2579

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

作品制作について 1/2

youtu.be/ZFjqUJn74kM

 

作品制作について 2/2

youtu.be/pZIbXmnXuCw

  

１　それまでの写真展。自分は行きたいと思ったか？

 

２　じゃ、自分が足を運んででも行きたい展示とは何か？

 

３　原宿デザインフェスタで個展を開くまでに、毎月ひとつの作品を展示することにチャレンジ。

 

４　作品とは、素材とシルエット。ファッションと似ている。

 

５　自分が好きなアーティストは誰か？　どんなものなのか？　そこをはっきりさせる。

 

６　コラージュの作成も写真の撮り方と全く同じ。インタビューに書いたように小説の書き方とも同じ。

 

７　誰かに見せたい、見せるがために作品は作らない。写真と同じように自分の部屋に飾りたい作品を目指す。

 

８　パクリとは何か？　昨今、叩かれるパクリ疑惑。ミメーシスとは？

 

　　https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/ミメーシス

　　https://kotobank.jp/word/ミメーシス-139464

  

９　個性とはなにか？　オリジナリティってなに？

 

おまけ　眞子さまについて

 

という流れです。

お時間がある方は是非聴いてください。

:)

 

www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

  

構図の解説２

 

1.構図の解説２ ... 1/4

youtu.be/yVbvneBIMs8

 

2.構図の解説２ ... 2/4

youtu.be/LToFez9vOAw

 

3.構図の解説２ ... 3/4

youtu.be/uTR0wVi9Z7M

 

4.構図の解説２ ... 4/4

youtu.be/h2LjfU6Vvno

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕のシャッター感覚

 

youtu.be/3JkbGiFLjAM

 

In the Eurostar to Venice . 2005. shot ... 1 / 2

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/49127115021/in/dateposted...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Miles Davis sheet 1955-1976.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

_________________________________

_________________________________

flickr.

www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

YouTube.

www.youtube.com/user/mitsushiro/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

instagram.

www.instagram.com/mitsushiro_nakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Pinterest.

www.pinterest.jp/MitsushiroNakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

YouPic

youpic.com/photographer/mitsushironakagawa/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

fotolog

www.fotolog.com/stealaway/

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

twitter.

twitter.com/mitsushiro

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

facebook.

www.facebook.com/mitsushiro.nakagawa

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

threads.

www.threads.net/@mitsushiro_nakagawa

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Blue sky.

bsky.app/profile/mitsushironakagawa.bsky.social

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Amazon.

www.amazon.co.jp/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AHSKI3YMYPYE5UE...

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

僕の統計。（2024年8月1日現在）

フリッカー、ユーピクのアクセス数は？

Flickr 23,192,383 View

Youpic 7,574,603 View

 

僕の統計。（2024年2月7日現在）

フリッカー、ユーピクのアクセス数は？

Flickr 21,694,434 View

Youpic 7,003,230 View

 

僕の統計。（2023年11月13日現在）

フリッカー、ユーピクのアクセス数は？

Flickr 20,852,872 View

Youpic 6,671,486 View

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Japanese is the following.

drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vBRMWGk29EmsoBV2o9NM1LIVi...

 

Title of my book unforgettable' Mitsushiro Nakagawa Out Now. ISBN978-4-86264-866-2

 

Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot no.204_ . Copyright©︎2020 Lot no.204_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

” Lot No.402_ ” に関するお知らせ。

  

今後、僕は、” Lot No.402_ ”を主催します。

 

このロットナンバーは、眠っていたレオナルドダヴィンチの作品がオークションにかけらた際に付されたものです。

作品にはサインなどがいっさい記されていなかったため、彼の作品だと断定できませんでした。

しかし、様々な鑑定の結果、陽の光を浴びました。

誰にも気づかれない作品。肩書がなくとも静かに語りかける作品。

僕はこれから様々な形で、多くの皆様に提供できるよう努めてゆきます。

 

2020年10月24日 by Mitsushiro - Nakagawa.

 

Copyright©︎2024 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.

_________________________________

_________________________________

 

Here's the news story:

wtop.com/dc/2024/06/wax-statue-of-lincoln-that-began-melt...

but i'm posting it anyway. not a 365. first of all though -

 

-- if you're expecting a message or reply from me via FM / PM / comment / email /etc, please be patient a little longer! i am REALLY sorry and as always i NEVER ever mean to offend or disrespect anyone i am talking to or who i have messaged in any way by not replying promptly. again i'm sorry, and thank you for understanding ! --

 

-- 私はメッセージを待っていることを期待されている場合...少し忍耐を持って くださいよ！

非常に申し訳ありませんです！

 

ｍ（＿　＿；；ｍ --

 

-

 

pic commentary -

 

this is a quick edit i did of a photo that i'm putting in my 'rejected' folder yet like enough to post it anyway... it's actually Nanami, but the colors are inverted. i just started looking through this set, so it's possible i'll find a picture worth putting in my 'good enough' folder and posting that later. if not, i at least have figured out exactly what i f'd up when shooting this set and since i often reshoot sets several times, i guess it can go on the list, since i really want to show off Nanami's eyes (which you can't see here) and wig (somewhere closer to it's natural color) since they are both new and look really good on her. also: Nanami's body is something i never get tired of looking at.

 

alternate version here: i.imgur.com/YdKrsSV.png

  

the rest of this commentary is my usual personal ranting / moaning about life to get it off my chest, so if you're not into that and i don't blame you if you're not, you should quit reading about here.

 

-

  

... so anyway the summary of the last 4-5 days is that i got so stressed out from a combo of external circumstances & my own predisposition to high states of anxiety (regardless of whether i am happy, sad, angry, etc - i can be extremely happy and extremely anxious at the same time because i'm just that good at being bad) -- and i basically made myself sick with stress and got some ridiculous fucking fever that kept me in bed for a day or so, and still feeling severely fucked up even after i felt well enough to get out of bed. the last time i left my house was to see my therapist and my doctor.

  

at this moment i'm going through 3~4ish weeks worth of photos that i haven't edited / post processed at all, some of which are for my classes, although at this point i've had so many weeks of this situation coming and going that i have a feeling i may end up dropping some (all?) of them because i'm just not capable of handing work in on time (finish it? yes. on time? not in my current physical/mental state) - again mostly because of how incredibly stressed out i am right now...

  

...and this sucks, especially because i've both been actually enjoying and have also actually benefited a lot from pretty much every class in multiple ways, but i feel like a person with a broken leg trying to run a marathon or something. i frequently forget that what is easy for other people and therefore i expect to be easy for myself is in fact not as easy or as within my capability as i'd like to delude (or demand of) myself into thinking it is...which leads to me pushing myself harder and harder until i pretty much break my metaphorical leg all over again and basically: i'm a dumbass who doesn't know my own limits, even if i may have legit reasons in the mix here since as i mentioned there's some personal things almost entirely (well, in the worst and most distressing case, completely & irrevocably) out of my control that have been really causing me to just completely spiral down health- and mind- wise for about a month now.

  

on a more self centered and selfish motivation, i also want to at least get into a place where i feel well enough to be able to go to AB this Friday. last year i was also pretty damn sick for similar reasons and i went anyway, and then of course i caught something nasty at the con because despite my OCD about not licking the floor of the Hynes or anything like that (cough), my immune system doesn't know anything and so i was in bed for about another 2 weeks afterwards (iirc i had a fever and was in bed sweating and shivering by the time we got home on Sunday afternoon)... and yet it was worth it, somehow, because i really, really like going to AB and it's pretty much one of the few semi-guaranteed highlights of my whole year.

  

so that's what's going through my mind right now, and i'll probably post a quick iphone pic later as my 365, but i also might post some random image-edit-spam from my actual-real-camera periodically over this evening if my morale and motivation stay high enough to actually continue working on processing and editing stuff. which i don't know if it will but if you did read my entire commentary, the only kind of comments i really want in response to this are probably ones of encouragement rather than any pity/commiseration type comments or whatever. you know. i just need some cheerleaders right now.

The school day goes by pretty quickly, thankfully. I got a reply on her location, if that's even her. It's surprisingly not raining outside, as I navigate my way through the Kenton district. I land upon arriving at the house. Well, at least it's a change of scenery from the usual criminal hideouts.. This could easily be a trap, but I'm trying to be optimistic. The door is already open, so I enter. Looking around, I don't spot anything that's out of the ordinary. Just the usual furniture and tables. To the left, I notice a staircase going down. As I step down the stairs, I'm able to hear a man's voice.

 

"Thought you could call for help.. Well let's hope this 'Friend' of yours shows up! Then they can watch as you die. YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE WHEN MY DAUGHTER DIED ON THAT FIELD TRIP." He yells, as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

 

"I'm sorry for your loss.. But you don't get to act as judge, jury, and executioner. You think I don't feel guilt for what's happened? You're wrong.. Every day I think about that day. I wake up from nightmares having to watch as all my classmates died slow, painful deaths around me.. I almost died myself.. That doesn't justify you taking me prisoner. You don't see any other parents do this.. Even though they are experiencing the same pain as you are now." That voice.. It's definitely hers.. Jessica.. She's trying to act brave, even though I see the gun in the man's hand when I walk through the door. She notices me come through the doorway, and smiles.

 

"Hi A-- Beacon.. You came for me!" She says, with tears in her eyes.

 

"Beacon? The name's Captain Solar!" I say trying to disguise my voice. The man raises his gun..

 

"Look who finally showed up. Now you get to watch as I kill her. Don't worry, you'll get yours next..

 

"There's no chance that's going to happen." I reply, as I shoot the gun out of his hand with my energy blast.

 

"GAH!" He screams as he crawls towards it. I fly towards the gun, and grab it. Before I crash into the other room, I land. He tries to tackle me, and I nimbly dodge. I direct my energy blast at his back as he crashes into boxes, making sure he goes unconscious. He's a bit heavy as I grab him, putting him on his back. I feel for his pulse. Still alive.. Good. His eyes are closed, so just unconscious then. I energy blast the rope that's bounding Jess to the chair, and she has trouble getting up, so I help her up. She holds onto me, giving me the worlds biggest hug, not wanting to let go.

 

"Andy.. I was worried you weren't going to get here in time.. Thought that this was it. That I would actually die this time.. Thank you so much." She sounds terrified.

 

"Of course I would. I couldn't save you the last time, but I sure was going to this time. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try. I'm just glad you're alive." I say, as I'm starting to get emotional. My eyes well up, and it's hard to see, but I don't care. Soon enough, the tears start dripping down my face, and onto the floor

 

"So you ended up becoming a superhero, name, costume, and all?" Jess says, trying to change the mood to a happier one.

 

"Yeah. Figured I would use my powers to help others."

 

"But Captain Solar? Really?" She replies, mocking my choice of name.

 

"It's better than Beacon.. Still can't believe you brought it up again."

 

"I thought it was pretty clever, if I say so myself.. To be a superhero, is to be a beacon of hope for others."

 

"I guess.. How did you survive? I saw the news confirming that you died."

 

"The news was wrong.. It was all thanks to your sister."

 

"My sister? So she's still alive then?"

 

"No Andy.. She didn't make it. She died, saving my life in the process." She replies in a somber tone.

 

"Oh.." I didn't know how else to respond. This had given me some hope, that Davina would still be alive somehow. But she's not. I saved Jessica.. That should mean something. But a part of me still feels broken. How am I supposed to be a beacon of hope when I'm still broken on the inside?

 

"Right before she passed, she told me to protect you. Kind of funny right? I'm supposed to protect you, the one without powers protecting someone as gifted as you are.." There's a long pause, before I finally reply.

 

"I miss her."

 

"I miss her too Andy.. I miss her so damn much."

Jason’s sword connected with Jay’s as the two stopped for a moment to listen for gunshots. A sound that both men recognized as an EMP had gone off just a moment earlier. Now, even with their swords aimed at each others throats, they waited to see what they would hear from the hallway next.

  

“Do you really think your people survived that?” Jay asked as he pushed Jason backwards with both his sword and one hand, “Even if it that EMP was yours…you’re outmanned…beaten already.” Swinging his sword at Jay’s neck, just as he dodged, Jason answered,

  

“I want to tell you something, Greene. It’s what’s going to happen if I find them dead outside,” Jason kicked Greene in the stomach, sending him reeling back, “First…I’m going to kill you. I’m going to drive this sword through your stomach and stick you to the wall. Then…” Blocking another swing from Greene, Jason continued, “Then…I’m going to take your sword and I’m gonna kill your boy, Greene. In front of you. Do you understand?” With that, Jason grabbed Greene’s sword with his free hand before head butting the man so he collapsed onto the ground. Just as he scrambled to get to his feet, Greene was met with Jason’s sword at his neck, “Do you REALLY understand who you’re dealing with?”

  

“You’re one of the Bat’s…” Greene replied, shuddering slightly with anger as he stared into the eye holes of Jason’s mask, “You wouldn’t do that to me…or him…” Tilting his head from side to side silently, Jason made a split second decision by plunging his sword into Greene’s shoulder, nailing him to the ground. The old man cried out in pain, punching the ground next to him while trying to reach for his sword just as Jason kicked it away.

  

“I’m one of his, but what he doesn’t know…doesn’t hurt him.” As Jason said these words he began to think about just what he was saying. His mind said, This is what Bruce would do…this is his brand of scare tactics, but his heart meant every word of it. Regardless of if Greene’s men had killed Scarlet or Roy, Jason felt like retrieving the sword in order to ram it into the man’s skull. While fighting Flamingo and the Middleman, Jason had suppressed these urges in a way that he felt would make Bruce proud. However, this man, this man that may have just killed the love of his life and one of his only friends deserved the worst of punishments.

  

“I give up,” Greene’s words interrupted Jason’s contemplation, “I’ll throw it all away…I…I don’t know what I’ve been thinking…just don’t hurt my boy…” Suddenly, in the strong and wise yet cruel Jay Greene’s place lay a different man: a broken, terrified, sad old criminal. Jason’s heart slowed its racing as he nearly reached for his sword to pull it from Greene’s shoulder but hesitated, deciding Greene’s outburst to be a ruse.

  

“You don’t get a choice,” Jason said, staring blankly at the door which he knew would lead him back to Scarlet and Roy, “You don’t get to change…now…” Stepping on Greene’s stomach, Jason asked, “Where’s the anti-Lazarus solution?” Tensing up in pain, Greene answered,

  

“It’s…in my boy’s room…you’ve been in there just please…promise me you won’t hurt him…just take the stuff and get out of my house.” Jason removed his foot from Greene’s stomach before walking to the door, all the while listening to the latter call after him, “You’re leaving me here?! Please! Take this thing out of arm! Please! Help-”

BH45 shoves it's train into the Aeropres plant at Manhattan, with BNSF GP39-2 2983 doing the honors. This is the first time I have ever seen this train moving in daylight, as it's normally relegated to the late night hours after Metra stops running.

Sorry to all of my contacts for not replying, i've been out of town away from the comp. for a few days. i will try to catch up here with comments.

This was a sunrise shot from the famous Inspiration Point at Tunnel View. I don't think this photo has ever been taken before, i think i'm the first one! just kidding, during sunset there might be at least 100 people or so there! only a couple of people during sunrise. i took enough photos in Yosemite to post a shot a day for the next 3 years! pretty dry there though, no waterfalls this time of year.

It's always been about the score. Sometimes it's an easy get in, get out job. Then there are those times when I encounter the Scarlet Speedster himself. That's mostly why I formed the Rogues in the first place. That and they've truly become a family I never really had growing up. It was just me and my sister Lisa back then. Though, while there were rough times, there were also times of joy. We haven't come across the Flash in these past few weeks, as he's apparently disappeared. Probably off fighting some evil speedster hell bent on taking him down. It's made our jobs a lot easier. Central City as a result of his absence, is a war zone. Everyone does whatever they want now, with no Flash to worry about. There's been several speedsters that have tried to carry on the Flash's legacy of being Central City's protector, but it isn't the same. None of them can really compare to him. I won't admit it to anyone else, but I sort of miss the guy. Always could count on him to give us a challenge to overcome. Anyways, enough with all these thoughts, I have a heist to pull off.

 

"Some guards should be showing up in 3 seconds, watch out you two. " I say into the comms unit, as I'm waiting outside the Central City Museum in the van, with Scudder, and Rathaway.

 

"Already taken care of boss" Roscoe replies with calmness in his voice.

 

"Alright. Mirror Master, get us in." The three of us exit the van, and head to the nearest reflective surface. He activates his mirror gun, points it at the surface, and fires. We leap into the swirl, and appear in the mirror world. It still weirds me out going through it. Thousands of mirrors everywhere, not knowing where they lead. A few minutes later, Scudder finds the right mirror.

 

"This is the one. Let's go!" He says as he points to a mirror.

 

"Not sure how you can be so sure, but ok." I hear Piper mutter as we leap through the mirror. We appear in an exhibit hall. Minutes later, Lisa, and Roscoe arrive.

 

"So where's the diamond?"

 

"If you listened to the briefing beforehand, I wouldn't have to tell you again Roscoe. The Kahndaq diamond is in a sealed vault on the third floor. Currently, we're on the second. Let's get a move on before more guards show up." With that, we make our way through the second floor to the stairwell. After a couple of minutes of walking up stairs, we reach the third floor. Piper opens the door, and we walk through it.

 

"I thought you disabled the lasers!"

 

"I thought I did too Len, but apparently it got reset." My sister replies with a frown on her face.

 

"It'll take me a few seconds to clear these, but you and Roscoe get to the vault." Top starts to spin, and propels himself towards the vault door. Lisa, goes to the vault door, and phases through it. Meanwhile, I freeze all the lasers in the room with my cold gun, and then we proceed to walk through, smashing all of frozen lasers.

 

"Keep a look out Piper. Don't want any unwanted guests popping in."

 

"Yeah yea I know."

 

Within moments, I hear a poof sound, and in front of us appear 6 people. I only recognize one of them, dressed in black and purple. He calls himself Spin, and a few years back, he was apart of the Rogues. I see Roscoe come back behind us, as he notices the intruders.

 

"Oh look who we have here. Central Cities most notorious thieves."

 

"Well thanks for noticing that, but if you don't mind, we have a diamond to steal." I hear Sam Scudder reply to the metal woman.

 

"See there's the problem here. We want the diamond too. So we have two options here. Either surrender to us and become slaves for the Network, or die."

 

"Yeah, both of those are not reasonable in the slightest, so I'm going to have to choose option c, which is us, walking away with the diamond, and you leaving."

 

"Where's Heatwave? I was really looking forward to killing him" One of them asks, while flames dance around his hand.

 

"He's not here right now, so you'll have to settle for fighting us." Piper spouts as he prepares his flute.

 

"Hey sis, you may want to get out here, we got some company." I say quietly into comms, just loud enough for her to hear.

Due to long-term poor health I'm unable to take on new contacts but do my best to reply to comments. Thank you so much for your interest, comments and favours on my photostream. Also for your good wishes. I send you joy and peace

Senator Johnson, what were you thinking? This isn’t an exclamation. I really want to know.

 

In one of the most recent iterations of tone-deaf statements made by politicians, Republican Senator Ron Johnson of Wisconsin said this on Joe Pag’s conservative radio talk show (emphasis mine):

 

“Even though those thousands of people that were marching to the Capitol were trying to pressure people like me to vote the way they wanted me to vote, I knew those were people that love this country, that truly respect law enforcement, would never do anything to break the law, and so I wasn’t concerned.”

 

“Now, had the tables been turned—Joe, this could get me in trouble—had the tables been turned, and President Trump won the election and those were tens of thousands of Black Lives Matter and Antifa protesters, I might have been a little concerned.”

 

It was both shocking and amazing to hear someone—an elected Senator, no less—say such a thing without realizing the impact of his words. This is the definition of institutional racism: thought patterns so embedded in society, some see nothing wrong in expressing them, let alone thinking them. Did you say them to gain political currency, or do you believe them? As Washington Post columnist E.J. Dionne Jr. recently said, “Republicans and conservatives have used culture wars as a way of encouraging working-class voters to cast their ballots on the basis of social, religious, and racial issues rather than on economic questions.” Your comments, shocking as they are to me, are chum, thrown into political waters to rile up your Republican base. In the feeding frenzy, they ignore the economic precipice they live on and, worse, don’t even realize how unimportant their lives are to the GOP.

 

The Justice Department’s mounting evidence against those who stormed the Capitol doesn’t correlate with your sentiments. In response to criticism about your statement, you replied, “There were no racial undertones to my comments.” You’re right, Senator. These weren’t undertones; these were overt. Here are some facts that should interest you.

 

In an interview with 60 Minutes, federal prosecutor and former acting U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, Michael R. Sherwin, said they were now in the process of prosecuting over 400 cases involving the January assault on the Capitol. “The bulk of those cases are federal criminal charges and significant felony charges: five, ten, twenty-year penalties…. Of those 400, we have over 100 who have been charged with assaulting federal officers and local police officers. Ten percent of the cases, I’ll call them more complex conspiracy cases—we do have evidence, it’s in the public record—where individual militia groups from different facets, Oath Keepers, Three Percenters, Proud Boys, did have a plan—we don’t know what the full plan is—to come to D.C., organize, breach the Capitol in some manner.” The investigation is only getting started.

 

Sherwin was an eyewitness to the insurrection. Dressed in his running clothes, he followed protesters from Donald Trump’s rally to the Capitol. “As the morning progressed, I noticed that some people were in tactical gear,” he said. “Those individuals, I noticed, left the speeches early. You could see it was getting more riled up. And it became more aggressive.” Prosecutors have charged many with obstruction of official government proceedings (the Electoral College count). Convictions could result in twenty-year felony sentences. The government has arrested two men for assaulting Capitol police officer Brian D. Sicknick, who later died of his injuries. If his autopsy shows their actions resulted in his death, they will be charged with murder.

 

Do you think, Senator, these people “truly respect law enforcement [and] would never do anything to break the law,” as you stated?

 

Covered live on TV, hundreds of thousands of Americans witnessed this breach. Rioters posted their own videos and photographs of their actions. Others proudly texted their involvement. The people you described as loving their country put members of Congress, the military, and police at risk. What’s so loving about that?

 

Politicians have been spinning their versions of events since the dawn of our country. During both the Reagan and George H. Bush administrations, Lee Atwater’s noxious tactics are the contemporary antecedent for the misleading hyperbole we experience today. Truth became malleable. Atwater’s support for making furloughed felon Willie Horton’s armed robbery and rape charges an issue during the 1988 presidential campaign against Democrat Michael Dukakis was instrumental in Bush overcoming a 17-point deficit to win the presidency. Atwater stated he would “strip the bark off the little bastard” and “make Willie Horton his running mate.” Trump’s “alternative facts” were the culmination of bending the truth for political gain. What’s fascinating is the traction these lies generate.

 

In 1987, the Federal Communications Commission rescinded the Fairness Doctrine, which required media outlets to present controversial issues fairly and balanced. “The Fairness Doctrine required that those who were talked about be given a chance to respond to the statements made by broadcasters.” The FCC believed this safeguard impinged on a person’s First Amendment rights, and they did away with it. Political discourse has digressed ever since.

 

“Cancel culture” has become our most recent ad hoc policing system to control the cacophony of voices and opinions on traditional and social media. But it’s often harsh and indiscriminate. A few months back, a Facebook friend wrote about some stress in their life, posting a sizeable animated emoji showing a round yellow face grinding its teeth. I responded to that emoji by saying, “relax” (I know firsthand the pain of bruxism—teeth-gnashing). A few minutes later, a well-known woman writer admonished me for telling any woman to relax. I only knew my friend via Facebook. And her handle was gender-neutral, so I didn’t realize she was a woman. I was going to clarify my response, but when I saw that 27 people had already liked her retort, I thought better of it. I felt ganged up upon and ridiculed unfairly. A simple question, “What did you mean?” would have cleared everything up quickly. Instead, I deleted my comment. But the feeling of being misunderstood without recourse stayed with me the rest of the day. Seeking context is a rare commodity. So that’s why I’m asking you, Senator, despite the facts, why did you say what you said?

 

Ultimately, it’s the responsibility of your Wisconsin constituents to judge your words and deeds. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us will stand by when you pass your judgments. They’re deadly.

 

And, yes, Senator Johnson, you are a racist.

  

Feel free to pass this poster on. It's free to download here (click on the down arrow just to the lower right of the image).

 

See the rest of the posters from the Chamomile Tea Party! Digital high res downloads are free here (click the down arrow on the lower right side of the image). Other options are available. And join our Facebook group.

 

Follow the history of our country's political intransigence from 2010-2020 through a seven-part exhibit of these posters on Google Arts & Culture.

To the following:

 

Hi -

  

You have been banned from the SL Musician's...Look whose playing in SL !! group. You will not be able to rejoin this group unless a group administrator removes the ban.

  

Note: This message has been sent to you by FlickHQ on behalf of SL Musician's...Look whose playing in SL !!. If you want further clarification about the reason behind you being banned, you'll need to follow up with someone from the group, because FlickrHQ has no say in an individual Group's administration.

(Clipped from - Chattanooga Daily Times Newspaper - Chattanooga, Tennessee - 7 Dec 1909) - CHEAP BASEBALL SUITS - Small Boys Find How to Get Them for Cigarette Pictures - If the ambition and energy of certain Chattanooga specimens of juvenile America are rewarded they will appear on the various diamonds of the wee little minor baseball leagues in Chattanooga next season in new uniforms "Mister got any baseball pictures?" is a query frequently heard on the streets these days from the lips of “fryin'-size" small boys addressed to men of all ages who use or look as if they might use cigarettes. Young America in general is mighty glad to get pictures of the heroes of the diamond just for the sake of having them—a sort of hero worship - But in this instance the desire for the little colored pictures of the ball tossers has a more material cause back of it. After being importuned for some of the pictures yesterday a curious person called the youngster back "What do you want of those pictures? said he. I c'n git a baseball suit for hundered en fifty of 'em" replied the small fry with a grin. Where can you get it? "Oh, sen' oft up ter Nyork," was the second response in a rather mysterious-I-mustn't-talk-too-much air as if he feared that revelation of the secret would result in an exhaustion of the supply of suits before his hundered en fifty" pictures could be sent in.

 

More examples of newspaper articles on the famous T206 Cigarette Baseball Cards from 1909:

 

(Clipped from - The Concord Daily Tribune newspaper - Concord, North Carolina - 17 July 1909) - It is simply ridiculous and amusing to see the stir that was made among the young boys of the city this morning when a salesman for the Turkish cigarettes struck town and presented to view a cigarette picture of Ty Cobb, who is now playing ball with the Detroit team. The little fellows have been searching every package of cigarettes that have been opened for the past three weeks looking for the distinguished Georgia player, and some of them actually believe that there is a ten dollar value on the picture of this man Cobb.

 

(Clipped from - The Charlotte News newspaper - Charlotte, North Carolina - 19 July 1909) - Pictures of Ty Cobb - The Piedmont cigarette packages contain pictures of various baseball stars. The likeness of Ty Cobb's the rarest of them all. Mr. Walter Cochrane, at the Buford Hotel cigar stand has two cigarette pictures of the great, baseball star, and much interest is manifested in them.

 

(Clipped from - The Morning News newspaper - Wilmington, Delaware - 21 July 1909 - HAD NEW GAME - A Man at Eleventh and Orange Gambled With Cigarette Cards. Wilmington boys have learned a new gambling game, and every day they can be seen almost any place in the city, playing it with the earnestness of old crap-shooters. There are pictures of baseball players given with a certain brand of cigarettes, and the small boy of today collects them with the same eagerness that his father, twenty years ago, collected the pictures of women and flags, and ships and other things which came under the general title of "cigarette pictures.'' Inquiry of two diminutive colored boys and a white boy, who were industriously "shooting" picture cards last evening at EIeventh and Orange streets revealed that the game was played by the challenger tossing his card in the air, and then the challenged one tossing his card, in turn. If the latter turned face or back up, matching the one first "shot," the latter won, if not, he lost, and the winner added the other fellow's card to his stock of the "bestest players in de league." They are playing it all day, everywhere, win or lose.

 

(Clipped from - Harrisburg Daily Independent newspaper - Harrisburg, Pennsylvania - 07 August 1909) - CIGARETTE PICTURES REVIVED. - The revival of the cigarette art gallery series make me hark back to the time fifteen years ago when, as a boy, I was a devotee of the white-papered rolls." The speaker smiled, struck a match and applied the flame to a fat cigar. He puffed in unconcealed enjoyment. Then he went on..."But what a difference is manifested now, In my time each package of 'snipes,' as we best knew them, contained the photo of a well-known actress. Some of these collections are extant. - "The public taste has varied. Baseball celebrities, Wagner, Lajoie Barbeau and so on, not to forget Merkle, make up tho series these days. Done in colors, the pictures make a pretty and interesting collection. It's been years, I am told, since the fad died out."

 

(Clipped from - The Concord Times newspaper - Concord, North Carolina - 2 September 1909) - Concerning Baseball Pictures - Greensboro Dally News. Considerable criticism, and of a right severe kind, have been levelled lately at certain cigarette manufacturers for their practice of putting pictures of baseball players in their cigarette boxes. The aforesaid criticism is based on the asumption that the pictures entice the small boy to buy the cigarette packages and thereby he becomes a smoker. Now, we have no particular interest in cigarette pictures, cigarettes or cigarette makers, but we have our doubts about the justice of the criticism referred to. In the first place, the small boy as a rule hasn't or should not have much money to buy cigarettes or anything else with. Our observation is that he relies mainly on begging his pictures from the large boys and grown men. Of course, some very small boys smoke cigarettes now and, for that matter, chew tobacco, just as they have done in the years that are past. It is, however, likely that very few boys smoke or use tobacco at all before they are fourteen years old, or thereabouts. If the smaller boys use tobacco it shows pretty plainly that their parents are not attending to their business as they should. The the sale recent apparent increase in of readv-made ciearettes. therefore, is to our mind explainable in another way.

 

(Clipped from - The Robesonian Lumberton newspaper - North Carolina - 06 September 1909) - Some Lumberton boys have found in cigarette pictures a new method of gambling. Two youthful sports who have a collection each of the much prized pictures of baseball men and who covet each the other's collection, decide to leave it to chance. "Match me," says one, and he flips the picture in the air. It falls, say, face up: if the other boy's luck or skill enables him to toss his picture so it falls face up, both picturts are his; if not, both pictures become the property of his opponent. It would take a very wise man to figure out all the evil these pictures are responsible for, but even a wayfaring man, thought a fool, can see that they are productive of no good.

 

(Clipped from - Asheville Citizen Times newspaper - Asheville, North Carolina - 6 Sep 1909) Commandment (#8) . Thou shalt not let thy children collect cigarette pictures of buxeball players lest the Iniquity wax In them as they grow older.

 

(Clipped from - The Journal Meriden newspaper, Connecticut - 28 September 1909) - Have you noticed the boys on the street with their new gambling game "Heads and Tails?’’ It’s played with baseball cigarette pictures.

 

(Clipped from - Fort Mill Times newspaper - Fort Mill, South Carolina - 21 Oct 1909) - Little Boys and Cigarette Pictures. A number of papers have noticed how the little boys have taken to the pictures of famous baseball players found in cigarette boxes. How the little "flip" the pictures to see whether face or back will turn up, how they win or lose their cards in this way. Some ace breakers in the distance for these little fellows who "flip" the pictures, and seem to think something ought to be done to stop it. This craze is as much in evidence here as anywhere under the sun. You may ask any urchin you meet how many cigarette pictures he has and you will promptly get an answer of any where from 5 to 500. They flip the pictures here, too, just as elsewhere; there is where the fun comes in. They block the sidewalks and fill the up corners flipping the little cards. They win and lose just as older people do at games of chance. It is the element of chance that invites these youngsters to this game of "flip," but this is not the sole reason they are interested in these little pictures. There is a reward of $10 for a complete set of pictures and this helps as an incentive to collect the pictures.

 

(Clipped from - The Wilmington Morning Star newspaper - Wilmington, North Carolina - 16 November 1909) - LOST - The party who found my checked overcoat can keep same if they will return my cigarette baseball pictures. Sallie Kingsbury.

 

(Clipped from - The Evening Index newspaper - Greenwood, South Carolina - 18 November 1909) - Bugg's Picture At a Premium. Everybody has noticed the fever which possesses all small boys, almost, now to collect the pictures of baseball players which come in cigarette pictures. The boys swap with each other and make many trades to get missing ones. According to the News and Courier, the pictures of "Buggs" Raymond are scarce in that city. It reports on small collector as having sold one to another enthusiast for $2.50.

 

(Clipped from - The Wilmington Morning Star newspaper - Wilmington, North Carolina - 3 December 1909 - Exercise of 'police powers' for the prohibition of baseball cigarette pictures is one sort-of "sumptuary legisation" to which we are committed in advance.

 

(Clipped from - The Record newspaper - Hackensack, New Jersey - 6 Dec 1909) - "Hey, mister, got any cigarette pictures of ball players er anything like that; is the prevailing youthful appeal on the streets now.

We rode on for days on end with little rest for haste was in need. Our destination was the court of my father, Edward Drake. He had the troops I needed, but his interest in war had lessened as the years passed. We finally arrived to his small castle and I was greeted by the guards, which knew me since I was always coming and going and was let in along with my two new companions, Leofeld and Leomer. Our horses were put inside the stable and we were led inside to the great hall by one of his servants. After being led through the maze of rooms we came upon a door guarded by two men with pikes.

"I have come to see my father" I proclaimed.

"But of course Master John! Yet for safety measures these two shall stay out here, one can never be too careful these days you know." he said while examining my companions with his bulldog eyes.

The door was opened and I went inside while Leofeld and Leomer waited outside. Two more guards with pikes were standing in the corners of the room. In the center of the stone walled room was my father and my beautiful sister, Marie.

"Father! Sister! How wonderful it is to see you again!" I said cheerfully, walking towards them and giving each a hug.

My father replied " John, it is nice to have you here once more. Your old man is growing weary and unwise lately. Your assistance is much needed indeed. I presume you have come here to ask me to lend you some of my men for your army, haven't you?"

" It is a pity to only see you in circumstances in which I come here to ask fo things, but we are on the verge of war and we must rally opur troops and get organized in order to bale to defeat the wicked Dragon army. In your lands they have done many injustices, far too many;it is time for revenge my father. As you well predicted I come here to ask you for your army." I drew out my map and pointed at a coordinate " We are hiding in the Wandering Woods, where the enmy will find it impossible to find us. Those who inside without a guide or knowledge, never get out. What say you father?"

To which my sister suddenly said " Since your departure, brother , father has appointed me to manage the distribution of our troops. We must stand up and defeat the Dragons, no longer shall we be mistreated by these foul men; WE ARE LOREESI! WE WILL FIGHT!" she cried. "Take as many men as you need for this fort is built with stone and boulder, no ill can come to it."

Speechless I was, I had finally got the troops I needed. "Thank you so much dear Marie. Victory and freedom will be ours! Send word to ready the soldiers we leave at dawn. Tell them to bring the weapons they can! I must leave now, I shall be back soon!"

I pranced myself out of the room and told Leopfeld and leomer to come with me, "Boys, we muster the dogs of war! Loreos shall TRIUMPH!"

  

My first indoors scene, pity that i can't enter it to GCVI Hope you like it! First freebuild for February :D

The wail of a red river hog sounds out through the dense African jungle as a spear is driven into its neck. Blood spurts from the wound, splattering onto the weapon's wielder; Grodd, General of the Gorilla City. The ape grunts as he twists the spear, the hog's cries continuing for a moment more before falling silent.

 

He hoists the beast upon his shoulder, it's blood spilling onto his fur. He takes a moment to breathe, basking in the shade of the trees and letting the brushing water splash against his feet and legs. It's truly beautiful out today, and yet, he finds himself hunting for food. He is not a hunter, he is not a gorilla who brings food for his people. He is a warrior, the general meant to protect his people. So why is he the one tasked to bring food back?

 

A low snarl echos. Grodd's eyes narrow, before he sharply turns, driving his bloodstained spear forward. A squelching sound replaces the snarl, as a monstrous crocodile, the size of a truck, slides down the spear, its head impaled.

 

The hunters are weak, afraid of challenges. The hunters fear hardship, favoring their lives as they are, with desire to prosper. The hunters would rather feast on fruit and vegetables from the city borders, then do their jobs.

 

Grodd slides the beast off his spear, before hoisting it upon his other shoulder.

 

He can't blame them. It's what they were taught to do.

 

Grodd makes his way back to the city, all those he passes praising him for his "hard work." He drops both bodies off at the hunters cabin, their leader, Daslo, showering him in gratitude. He ignores the fool, flaring his nostrils as he leaves the building. As he steps outside he spots her, sitting upon her chariot pulled along by mechanical lions. Queen Boka, the once love of his life, who was stolen away by the "king," Solovar. She doesn't think Grodd can see everything she stares, everytime she watches him from afar.

 

It no longer matters to him, however. She made her choice, he won't be held down by the past. It isn't in his nature.

 

-^-

 

Grodd sits atop his tree, watching the sky, the moon. He's one of the few gorillas to still live in the great old tree. It was the home of their ancestors a millenia ago, and has been almost completely abandoned in the new age. It's another act of weakness in Grodd's eyes, gorilla made shelters. Not knowing the harshness of the elements will only lead to death by the elements.

 

It doesn't matter though, it isn't his decision. Grodd is merely a general.

 

"I assumed you would be here," a voice calls out from a branch below him. Grodd doesn't need to look to know the voice belongs to the king. "You did an excellent job today slaying that crocodile, the hunter's gratitude is unimaginable."

 

"They should not be grateful," Grodd scoffs, eyes not leaving the moon. "They did not deal with the beast, and they are weaker for it. What I did was not for them, but for the people who rely on them."

 

Solovar sighs, his eyes also locked onto the moon. "We've discussed it before, Grodd, the times are different now," he says, turning slightly towards Grodd. "The days when we were young are gone, children don't need to be bred warriors for our survival."

 

"It made us stronger… unafraid and unfaltering," Grodd says, raising his hand up and closing it around the moon. "Just because we don't fight for survival does not mean we shouldn't fight for the betterment of gorilla-kind!"

 

"We are fighting, Grodd," Solovar sighs, shaking his head. "you must realize there's more ways to do so than by bloodshed."

 

"You-"

 

Before he can finish his thought, a strange sensation washes over Grodd, causing his brow to wrinkle. He can't quite describe it, some kind of… ringing in his ears that pulses through his nerves.

 

"What is that?"

 

Grodd follows Solovar's eyes, spotting the ball of fire falling from the sky. As it makes impact about ten miles out from the city, a small explosion of light goes off. Solovar's eyes meet his own. He can't help but feel disgust at the fear in the king's eyes.

 

"I… must see the council at once."

 

He leaves… running away, unable to act. That's their.

 

-^-

 

Grodd holds his axe in one hand, the other moving the jungle brush from his path. Behind him are Tolifhar, the head of Solovar's elite guard, and Malavar, head of the science division. The three traverse through the jungle, their destination; a crater formed the previous night.

 

"Inspect the crash site."

 

"The contents could prove useful for…"

 

"Research."

 

"Research they say," Grodd mumbles, ripping a branch from a tree and throwing it to the ground. "The council is a cesspool."

 

"You don't believe them?" Malavar asks, eyes not leaving the scanner, but his question earnest in curiosity.

 

"Of course I don't," he replies, swinging his axe down on another, larger branch, the cawing of various birds echoing through the jungle. "Only a fool would believe such lies."

 

"Then what is the purpose of our search team?" Tolifhar asks, from his position as flank watch, his scarred face brimming with the same curiosity Malavar's voice held. "I doubt they see it as a threat."

 

"They only want us to find them another miracle rock, that's all they care about," Grodd grunts, swinging the blade of his weapon into the soil, holding it in place.

 

"Miracle rock?"

 

"I believe he's referring to Mount Calor," Malavar chimes, still tapping on the scanner, brow twitching. "I only fail to see what the issue would be."

 

"Look around… look at yourself, Malavar!" Grodd exclaims, grabbing the scanner from his companion, before crushing it with his palm. "You are the smartest in Gorilla City, yet you rely on a toy to guide you. What happened to instinct? To skill?"

 

"That… was military property," Malavar groans, running his hand down his face. "I still fail to see what the correlation is, General."

 

"The correlation… this city, its people are the correlation," Grodd grumbles, dropping the destroyed tech and pulling his axe from the ground. "When was the last time you've seen children in the pits? What about the high council? Your king, Solovar? Nothing of the sort… it's not 'the utopia' envisioned for our people. The hunters were terrified of a simple crocodile and refused to hunt! Boka does not even have true servants to take her through the city. We have devolved, our king wishes for us to be weak, to be lazy. I would like to see our utopia in a world where Atlantis chooses to invade. What would our utopia do then?"

 

"We have enough to defend against Atlantis," Malavar sighs, picking up the broken fragments of the scanner from the jungle floor in hopes to repair it. "Heat based weapons can deal formidable damage to Atlantean skin, technology is a gift."

 

"Haha, defend," Grodd chuckles, turning away from the two. "With the gifts we were given, we should be conquerors, but we… we are merely waiting to be conquered."

 

-^-

 

As soon as Grodd and the others reach the crash site, Grodd approaches the crater with caution, his axe already drawn and ready for an attack. Tolifhar stands close by, with Malavar hung back, blaster ready. The closer he gets to the crater, the more he feels the sensation from before, the more he feels the surging in his bones. Something down there, something in the center of the destruction, is alive.

 

Peering over the edge of the crater, he finally sees the object that has crashed and forced this small expedition. With its nose nestled deep in the dirt, a small spacecraft is illuminated by bright red flames. The trees that had toppled over from the crash fuel the fire, giving Grodd better light, better vision of the crash.

 

"Well?" Malavar calls, his voice echoing throughout the clearing.

 

Grodd doesn't pay him any mind though. His attention, all of his senses, are entranced by the sight below him. Throwing the caution he enacted mere moments ago, Grodd slides down the crater's side, much to the dismay of his two allies. He can hear their cries slowly drown out as he reaches the bottom, the roaring of the flames sparkling of electricity drowning out all sound. Up close, the shuttle was much larger than he'd previously thought, one that could easily house an entire family of…

 

Humans.

 

Laying limp, halfway through the front windshield of the spaceship, was a human. Only their upper torso was visible, but the shape was indisputable. Grodds eyes narrow as he looks at the man; through his lifetime, he'd experienced a plethora of humans, whether they be on the television or explorers in his jungle. This one was different. Covering his body was not normal fabric, nor was it armor he and his people would wear. The garb has an almost ethereal glow, it's blue so bright it burns his eyes. Shoulder pads and gauntlets of glittering gold reflect the flames around him, though he can tell they are merely decorations and not meant for protection. The sight reminds him of… heroes, humans with gifts that donn bright capes. The footage he'd seen of them never had such a mesmerizing pull, however.

 

For a moment, an odd sensation floods over Grodd, as if he were in danger of… something. With curiosity still in a chokehold, he reaches forward, his fingertips grazing the corpse of the man.

 

Bwamp

 

Grodd's eyes are blown wide as a searing pain enters his mind. The pain is like none he's ever felt, none he could ever imagine feeling. His axe drops into the dirt with a thud as both hands reach for his head, applying pressure as if he were keeping his skull from splitting open. "G-gu-graggggggggh!" Grodd cries out, stumbling into the side of the ship, bursting through its exterior.

 

"General!?"

 

The calls of his comrades fall on deaf ears, ears that soaked red from the blood that leaks from them. Grodd is on his knees, that same crimson liquid dripping from his nose and eyes. He slams his head down onto the ship's flooring, splattering his own blood across the metal. He repeats the action, hoping, begging for the force to knock him unconscious, so the pain can finally end.

 

Bwamp

 

As Grodd attempts to slam his head down once more, the ringing sounds off again, though differently this time. What before felt like someone nailing a blade into his skull with a mallet, was now replaced with a thunderous beating. It was still deathly pain, but no longer piercing, no longer overwhelming. His eyes meet his own in the reflective pool of blood beneath, his pained expression painted perfectly in the crimson.

 

Seeking a way out? Running from his mission? Begging?

 

Grodd's fist slams down into the pool of blood, splattering it in all directions. He slowly pushes himself up, each subtle movement sending a sharp pain down his spine. His head tilts, a faint red glow emitting from the back of the ship, calling to him. With a small step towards the glow, it happens once more.

 

Bwamp

 

It was the same as before, like a hand reaching into his mind, trying to rip apart everything that made him… him. Yet still, Grodd trudges forward. All of those thoughts, those things in his head the hand tries to tear apart… Grodd knows them. Grodd does not take the easy way out. Grodd does not fail to do what he is tasked to. Grodd does not beg for salvation, he takes it. Grodd is a warrior. Grodd is a conqueror. Grodd is the one true king meant to lead Gorilla City to a new age. Grodd does not run from what is.

 

Grodd is.

 

The pain vanishes in an instant. The world around Grodd that had been a blur returns; the crackling flames, sparking wires… and the faint hum from the device in front of him. It glows red, its silver casing matching the reflectivity of the corpse's armor. His hand reaches out, the hesitation one would have after experiencing such pain absent entirely. The metal casing is cool to the touch, but quickly warms itself, sending that warmth up Grodd's arm. His eyes go wide, rubbing his thumb over one of the slits emitting red light. Another pulse washes over him. Warmth.

 

Bwamp

 

It's that noise again. It's so… similar, and yet… there's no pain. There's no throbbing in his head, no splitting ache. That sensation is replaced by… thought? Feeling? The machine was no machine… it was communicating.

 

"General!"

 

Grodd breaks from his trance, turning from the silver box towards Tolifhar and Malavar, the latter donning a worried stare. "Are you alright!?" he asks, stepping forward with one of his trinkets. The technology looks so different to Grodd as it passes over him. So… primitive. "Reinforcements are on their way, we assumed the worst."

 

"The worst?"

 

"As soon as the Ray Shields went up, Tolifhar and I tried to break you free… we heard your screams and then… silence."

 

"Ray Shields… what are you on about?"

 

"General… it's been two hours since you entered the ship," Tolifhar informs, arms crossed. "Were you not aware?"

 

No… no he was not. Two whole hours? It couldn't have been, he was on the ground in pain for seconds, a minute at most. For two hours to have passed… He looks down at the machine.

 

"What is that thing?" Malavar asks, pointing his toy at the box. "Is it the cause of the force fields?"

 

"She…"

 

"Your pardon?"

 

"Not it… she."

 

----------------------------

 

NEXT TIME: What Drives Him, Gorilla Grodd's True Purpose!

Part Three of my GC4 saga.

 

"Angus! Angus! Be ye all right?"

An echoing voice that sounded like Jeremy was calling to him.

Through the blinding light and blurriness, Angus tried to respond, but could only mumble.

"Angus! Can ye hear us?!" Now Morgan's booming voice thundered in his ear.

"M-Morgan?" His words finally clearing, Angus spoke.

A cheer rang from the brothers. "Hurray!"

"He-help me up, men!" Angus was soon lifted to a sitting position, and with some effort managed to raise his head - and was immediately bombarded by the overwhelmingly bright sun.

"Aaagh! What happened to the sun? Where the blazes are we?"

"Well... judgin' by the palm trees..." Jack said, "I would guess we be in Loreos!"

"Loreos! B-b-but, the rendezvous! What happened?"

 

Jeremy quickly explained that a terrible storm hit them and they lost their charter. Without it, they couldn't navigate, and soon ran aground.

 

Angus and a few others took a nasty tumble out of the ship from the impact of beaching.

 

"What do we do now? The ship be badly damaged." Morgan pointed out.

 

"First, we make camp. I see that Eric has already started." Angus replied, "And then... well, I'm not quite sure what we should do, Morgan. We are miles from any source of lumber to repair the ship, and to turn ourselves in to the Loreesi in a time of war is unthinkable! It would be suicide in the very act!"

 

Angus and the band had been in tight situations, but this was by far the worst. Hundreds of miles from the Garheim border, inside enemy territory, and so far, without any means of escaping.

 

****************************

 

C&C welcome!

~Brother Steven